Against the World
by balmorhea
Summary: When a convicted murderer escapes with the world's hero, how far will they go to get him back? AU. Complete.
1. october 31st

A/N: This is my second story, which is pretty much a story on the side at the moment. However, if I get ten billion reviews, I'll update more often. Now on with the story...

chapter one: (slightly revised)

"Death ends a life. But it does not end a relationship."

-Gene Harrison, _I Never Sang to my Father_

_In the ruins _of a once grand house, a little boy lay crying. Half the house was reduced to a pile of smoldering boards of wood, and the other barely stood at all. In the distance a low, load rumbling could be heard, and steadily grew louder and louder. A moment later, a huge motorcycle landed in front of what remained of Godric's Hollow.

Sirius took off his helmet, and stared at the destruction in horror, his breathing uneven. For a long while he simply sat there, mind refusing to properly register what he was seeing. He finally stumbled off of his motorcycle; his legs didn't seem to want to work properly, and walked with great difficulty to the house. Reaching the place where the living room once stood, and the half-gone ruins now lay, Sirius walked forward, but something caught his eye that made his legs give away entirely.

Sirius fell forward, and stared in horror at the body of his best friend, James Potter. His mouth fell open slightly, and he was unable to tear his eyes away. The sight seemed to be screaming at him. Crawling, not wanting to believe it, Sirius slowly made his way forward until he was kneeling next to James.

Sirius reached out a trembling hand, his fingertips barely grazing James' face. The skin was still faintly warm, though it had paled considerably. For a long while Sirius simply knelt next to his friend's body, brow furrowed slightly, unable to believe it. It wasn't until several minutes later that Sirius remembered something.

With shaking hands, Sirius managed to stagger back to his feet, and headed toward the staircase at the other end of the destroyed living room.

It seemed to take an eternity to walk up the stairs. Sirius had to grip the rail firmly and use the wall for support. When he had finally reached the second floor landing, Sirius could see red hair sprawled on the floor in the doorway to Harry's room.

Sirius bent over double, forcing back the urge to vomit. It was beginning to set in. It was then he heard a noise that made his whole body tense up: the sound of a crying child. Using the wall as support, Sirius staggered toward Harry's bedroom, and found Lily lying dead in the doorway, and a crying Harry on the floor next to her.

Sirius stared at the scene in front of him, trying to will his limbs to move, but they wouldn't obey. Harry continued to cry, tiny fists balled up, glistening tears staining his face. Lily simply laid on the floor, head tilted to the side and limbs slightly sprawled out. She had the same blank expression as James, the same pale skin.

Finally, Sirius moved his legs forward with an enormous effort, his breathing uneven. Picking Harry up, Sirius held him close, as though the world would end if he let go. Harry's crying ceased slightly as he lay in the familiar arms of his godfather.

It seemed to be a dream interrupting the nightmare that was reality. James and Lily were dead. But Harry was alive?

How long he stood there, Sirius didn't know. When Harry finally stopped crying, Sirius gained enough strength in his limbs and headed back downstairs, trying very hard not to look at James. It was impossible to block the vision of his best friend from his mind, however.

Sirius walked away from the ruins of Godric's Hollow, and towards the motorcycle on the side of the road, which Sirius noticed, but did not care, that he had left running. Setting Harry cozily on the seat, Sirius stared at his godson, who was drifting off to sleep.

How on earth was it possible that Harry had survived? And what was he going to do now?

It was then Sirius realized the full extent of the predicament he was in. No doubt it was only a matter of hours before the Ministry was after him: the entire world would think he did this; that Lily and James had died because of him.

But it was his fault. Lily and James were dead because he convinced them to switch to Peter.

Peter.

For a moment Sirius paused, taken aback slightly from this realization. Almost immediately anger Sirius had not known in years suddenly coursed through his veins. His hands shook now, not in shock, but in rage as he realized what Peter must have done.

Peter. _He _did this. Their own friend, in whom Sirius had trusted the lives of his best friend's family.

Shock was soon replaced by a made desire for revenge. The world may never know it was Peter who betrayed Lily and James, forever think it was Sirius, but Peter would pay for what he had done.

Sirius lifted the now-sleeping Harry into his arms, put on his helmet, revved up the engine, and took off into the distance.

_

* * *

Sirius stopped at his flat to drop Harry off. If the ministry found him before Sirius returned, then they found him. Was Sirius really expecting Harry to spend the rest of his life on the run from the ministry with him?_

"I'll be back soon, Harry," Sirius said before leaving. His voice sounded unnaturally calm. "If not...well, then all I can hope for is that you'll grow up, and remember that it wasn't me."

Just as he reached the doorway, Sirius paused, and said, "I love you, Harry."

Sirius rushed downstairs, and out the front door. The sky was lightening, and the stars grew fainter as the sun began to rise. Taking out his wand, Sirius apparated into the town where Peter lived.

He was going to kill him.

Sirius first headed toward Peter's hiding place, to see if Peter had bothered to return, perhaps to pack any belongings. But Sirius couldn't find anything gone, and there were still dishes in the sink. It looked just as though Peter had simply left, and would be back any moment now. Exactly as it did an hour before.

For a brief moment, images of Godric's hollow flashed in Sirius's mind. However, it only fed his desire for vengeance even more.

Sighing in fustration, Sirius decided to go to the small wizarding villages in the entire area, and if he couldn't find Peter, look everywhere he was known to go.

Peter couldn't hide from him forever.

_

* * *

Walking down the crowded wizarding roads, Sirius looked very carefully for Peter, but couldn't find him. By eleven o'clock, Sirius was thinking of leaving and searching elsewhere, until something caught his eye._

Peter was hurrying out of a shop, and heading for the entrance to the muggle roads. Sirius, never taking his eyes off of him, followed. Several people protested as Sirius walked right through them, but he ignored them. Peter walked from the main part of town, to an area that was less crowded with people and cars, Sirius all the while following, though not as fast as he'd like. Even though this side of town was less populated, there was still a large amount of people dividing him and Peter.

But Sirius didn't let that stop him.

For a moment that seemed like a lifetime, Sirius watched as Peter glanced around him every few seconds, as though expecting a sudden attack. It was hard to resist the temptation to blow him up from a distance right now.

As if sensing him, Peter turned in his direction, and spotted Sirius. He froze for a split second, eyes widening, then tore off running. Sirius was right behind him.

The muggles around them yelled in protest, but Sirius and Peter ignored them, running flat out. Peter turned to his left suddenly, and disappeared into an alleyway. But Sirius was only twenty feet behind him.

Peter knocked several garbage cans in the way as he ran, but Sirius simply dodged or jumped over them, eyes still fixed on Peter as he pulled out his wand. The moment he was preparing to curse him, Peter had reached the end, and disappeared around a corner. Cursing, Sirius lowered his wand and followed.

The alleyway opened up into a muggle neighborhood, where there were more apartments, and fewer shops. Halfway down the road, Peter suddenly stopped, and turned around to face Sirius, his breathing heavy. Peter slipped out a knife, and held it in his hand, out of sight from those around him.

"Why?" Peter yelled suddenly. "How could you do it?"

The muggles on the road turned to look at them. A few children in the nearby park stared as they swung or else shot down the slide.

"Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?"

Sirius stared at Peter, who had most of the knife hidden up his sleeve, as he cut off his finger. He was taken aback for a moment, then realized what Peter was about to do. Sirius whipped out his wand, ready to curse him, but then—

BOOM!

A sound like a bomb going off echoed all around them, and a split second later, terrified screams could be heard everywhere. Dust and smoke so thick it was impossible to see through filled the street, and the sounds of blown pieces of the road crashed back to earth. The street trembled violently at the unexpected explosion, and shook slightly as pieces of pavement returned to the road.

Coughing, Sirius got to his feet, and peered blindly through the thick cloud. Smaller pieces of debris continued to fall like rain. Sirius staggered forward as the dark cloud thinned, searching for Peter. But all that remained of him was a pile of bloodstained robes and the small appendage that was once Peter's index finger. Nothing more.

Sirius began laughing to himself. At first it was quiet, then grew louder as he realized what Peter had done, and what a disaster he was in. James and Lily were dead, at least a dozen muggles lay on the ground all around him, and Peter, the only one apart from himself who knew what had happened, had disappeared. It was only a matter of seconds before the Ministry came.

Sirius laughed even harder at this. The Ministry, as well as the rest of the world, would think he had done all this. Sirius was as good as dead now. The only thing to do now was wait until the Ministry came. There was no point in leaving: his world had already ended.

What about Harry?

Sirius remembered Harry, lying asleep in the upstairs bedroom, parents dead. His laughter began to falter; he couldn't just leave him like that.

Picking up his fallen wand, Sirius disapparated back to his flat, leaving behind the cataclysm Peter had created.

Running up the stairs, Sirius found Harry lying on the bed, fast asleep. He picked him up and was just about to disapparate again when he paused. Did he really intend to let the Ministry simply throw him into Azkaban, or worse?

He wasted no time in packing a suitcase of clothes and some other necessary things he couldn't leave behind. Stuffing his muggle passport and ID in his bag, Sirius shrunk it with his wand, and pocketed his suitcase.

Sirius paused at the foot of his bed, and looked at Harry. Should he leave him here for the Ministry, or attempt to bring him to a safer house? He didn't know when the Ministry would arrive, and when they did, what they might do if they thought he was still here. Sirius couldn't leave him, but he certainly couldn't take Harry with him.

Sirius heard several loud cracks from outside, and looked out the window. Dozens of Hit Wizards appeared out of thin air, and began hurrying toward the flat. A moment later, loud bangs were heard as the wizards tried to force their way in through the electronically-locked door a few floors below.

He had a split-second to make a decision. Before he could make his mind up, Sirius heard an explosion downstairs, though not as large as the one in the muggle road. The entire apartment building shook, and Sirius picked up Harry and disapparated.

_

* * *

Sirius nearly fell over when he reappeared on a misplaced lopsided stack of books, but managed to keep his balance. Brushing the soot off of Harry, who had begun to cry, and himself, Sirius looked around Lupin's deserted house. It was then Sirius noticed he was shaking._

He looked back at Harry, and debated whether he should try to comfort him before he left. He owed him at least that. Walking into the tiny kitchen, Sirius searched for something to give Harry to eat, and found some left-over mashed potatoes.

Heating them with his wand, Sirius quickly fed Harry, who seemed to enjoy the potatoes. Sirius glanced at his watch, and saw that it had only been twelve hours since he had found James and Lily dead.

CRASH!

Sirius grabbed Harry, and looked in the living room. There was a gaping hole in the front window, and a small metal container lay on the floor, gray smoke filling the room. Sirius looked back out the window, and saw the same Hit Wizards from twenty minutes ago.

"Crap," Sirius muttered to himself, moving away from the living room. How had they managed to trace him so quickly?

Sirius glanced out the kitchen window, thinking fast. He knew there was no way he could leave Harry here for Lupin to find: Harry would probably die from the gas. There was no choice but to take Harry with him.

Sirius tried to disapparate, but nothing happened. When he attempted it a second time, Sirius realized the Ministry had put an anti-disapparation enchantment on the house. He grabbed the nearest object, a tea kettle, and transformed it into a portkey. The Ministry already wanted him for murder, what difference did it make if he used an illegal portkey?

Sirius quickly sped through the back door, Harry in one arm and the tea kettle in the other. It only took seconds before he heard yelling and the sound of Hit Wizards and Aurors coming to the back of the house. Before another moment passed, curses were flying at him from ever direction.

Sirius ducked behind the large, ancient barn, hoping he had put enough distance between himself and the protected house. The last thing he needed was to discover the entire field was protected with wards to keep him from leaving as well.

Sirius held Harry's hand to the portkey, and instantly they were lurched forward.

_

* * *

They landed a moment later in an empty field on the outskirts of Southampton, a city Sirius had been to only twice. Harry, who was tucked away safely in Sirius's arms, remained unscathed. Standing up, Sirius transformed the tea kettle into a piece of paper, and torched it with his wand. If he made it out of this mess, he would send Lupin a new tea kettle for Christmas._

Sirius then walked for over an hour, until he reached the buildings and houses that lined the edges of the city. Knowing he must look very conspicuous with dust all over his clothes, he headed into a bathroom of a nearby tavern, and magically removed the dust from his and Harry's clothes. Enlarging his bag to its normal size, Sirius pulled out a wad of muggle money, and stuffed it into his pocket. He decided to take a taxi to an airport, and go to some random country that he could live in for now.

Noticing a cut on the side of his head above his brow, Sirius rinsed it with water, ignoring the slight stinging. He washed off Harry as well, though he was unhurt, and grabbed his bag before walking out to the road. He took a city bus to a more populated part of town, where he got into a taxi, and headed to the airport.

Remembering Harry needed a passport, Sirius conjured one out of thin air, and instead of Harry's real name, the passport read: Adam Thomas. Taking out his own, Sirius changed the name on his passport and ID, so the last name matched the one on Harry's.

Sirius walked into the airport, and bought two tickets for the soonest flight out of England, which happened to be New York City, leaving Southampton at three thirty.

Sirius went through baggage check and the metal detectors, and waited at the gate for the flight, Harry sleeping in his arms again.

Barely half an hour later, Sirius and Harry boarded the plane, and sat down in row 23A.

Fifteen minutes later, the plane took off from Southampton Airport, and flew to New York City, three thousand miles away.

_

* * *

Arriving in JFK International Airport hours later, Sirius looked out the window at his first sight of America. He could see skyscrapers lining the shore, and the tiny structure that must have been the Statue of Liberty off in the distance. Everything was illuminated by the orange glow of the early setting sun._

"Thank you for flying British Airways," a voice over the loudspeaker announced. "The time for New York City is 6:18 PM."

Sirius looked at his watch, and saw that it was in the very early hours of the morning in England.

Grabbing his bag, and carrying a sleeping Harry, Sirius walked out of the airport. The memories of the past day flooded his mind, and Sirius heard nothing but the echos of the screams in his head that refused to die.


	2. a new beginning

A/N: When I said I wouldn't update this immediately, I didn't mean six months, or however long it's been. I've been so sidetracked by trying to get my other story done along with nearly every distraction possible. Strangely, in the beginning one of the reasons for not posting chapter two was because I didn't know the minister's name at the time. I found it while reading OoTP a few weeks ago, long after I wrote this, and I lost it after writing it down. Oh well. The old Minister is now a man, and referred to as "the Minister".

"Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes."

-Oscar Wilde

Chapter two:

"_What do you_ mean you can't find him?" shouted the minister angrily.

"There's absolutely no trace of where Black disappeared to, sir," said Stan.

"Didn't you trace the fireplace? Where did he end up?"

"We did trace the fireplace to the house he went to, but when we got inside, he was gone."

"Who's house is it?" the minister demanded.

"I don't know, Minister," said Stan. "I'll have to check the Floo Network for a name."

"Then go," he said. "If Black went to this house, then the person living there must know him. A friend perhaps. Anyways, once you get the name, I want to see that person in my office immediately."

"Yes, sir," said Stan, then left.

The Minister sighed exasperatedly. "Can you imagine tomorrow's headlines? 'Mass Murderer Disappears with World's Hero'. This is madness. There's no way we'll be able to find Black. It's like he just disappeared off the face of the earth with Harry Potter."

"The most we can hope for is that Harry is alive," said Dumbledore.

"Alive?" repeated the minister disbelievingly. "In the hands of a madman?"

"I don't think Black would have taken Harry without a reason to do so," said Dumbledore. "If he really did mean to kill Harry for the sake of killing Harry, he would have done so already, and wouldn't have taken Harry with him. Having a one-year-old with you while you're on the run would undoubtedly slow a person down."

"So what if Black's just going to spend his time threatening to kill Potter? Black could have killed him already, and dumped Potter's body somewhere. It's been seven hours, and we're no nearer catching Black than we were when we started!"

There was a knock at the door, and Cornelius Fudge walked in.

"What is it now?"

"Remus Lupin is here," he said.

"Who?" repeated the minister blankly.

"The owner of the house Black disappeared to," answered Fudge. "He's waiting just outside."

"Bring him in, then."

Fudge beckoned to someone behind him, and stepped back to let a man with light brown hair, who appeared to be in his young twenties, inside.

"It was your house Sirius Black disappeared to?" said the minister abruptly. Lupin nodded. "Do you have any idea why?"

Lupin shrugged. "We were friends at school."

"Have you kept in contact with him after you left?"

Lupin nodded again.

"Did you ever suspect him of working for Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well no," answered Lupin. "Not until these past few months anyway."

"Meaning?"

"Someone close to...to James and Lily seemed to be keeping Voldemort well aware of where they were. At first I couldn't suspect it was Sirius, I'd known him for years, and it didn't seem right. But after awhile, it began to look like he was the only one who could possibly have been the spy."

"So you didn't tell anyone?" pressed the Minister.

"I didn't want to believe it was true," answered Lupin. "I couldn't believe it. I've always thought it was someone else. I've known Sirius for ten years, and he never seemed like someone to betray his friends."

"But he did," said the minister. "And escaped with the world's hero to who knows where!"

"Do you have any idea where he might go?" Dumbledore asked.

Lupin thought for a moment. "He would have left the country by now. If he knew the entire wizarding community in England was after him, he'd leave as fast as he could."

"Does he have any relatives in other countries? Friends?"

"Not that I know of," answered Lupin. "He never mentioned it."

"Wise thing," muttered the Minister. "Though not completely foolproof," he added. "He didn't manage to disappear entirely yet. I shall have the foreign Ministries notified of the situation. In a few hours time, the entire world will be on the look-out for Sirius Black."

_Sirius stared at _the dark ceiling of the motel room. Harry was fast asleep next to him, but he was wide awake, wondering what on earth he was going to do.

He couldn't possibly keep Harry with him. The Ministry would be following Sirius until they caught him, and he couldn't bring himself to drag Harry along. What about when Harry was older, if they still didn't catch him? He would eventually need to go to school, and just because Sirius would be spending the rest of his days on the run until the Ministry caught him, doesn't mean Harry should. After all, he was only a baby. Nothing that had happened was his fault, so why should be pay for it?

The only option was to give Harry to someone, but who? The only person Sirius trusted with Harry was Lupin, but how would he manage getting Harry back to England without getting caught?

He would have to wait until the Ministry pulled back on the manhunt. But that could take years. Was he really willing to keep Harry with him that long, making him grow up while on the run?

Rolling over to look at Harry, Sirius realized he didn't have a choice.

Three Years Later...

"_No, Adam, don't _touch that," said Emily, pulling Harry's hand away from the knob to the stove. "You'll burn the place down."

"I want to play with it," said Harry, looking up at Emily with wide eyes.

"No you don't," said Emily. "That's fire. It's bad. Why don't you go play with something else?"

"Can I have candy?" asked Harry hopefully.

"You just had some."

"Can I have more?"

"Your dad would kill me if I gave you more sugar," said Emily. "You've got enough energy as it is."

Harry's face fell, but he did not kick and scream like all other kids. He just looked extremely disappointed, and that ended up being enough to get what he wanted.

"Besides, it's almost time for dinner," said Emily, looking at the clock. "Your dad should be back anytime now."

Harry didn't answer, but walked out of the kitchen, and went to the window.

"What do you see out there?" Emily asked, coming over.

"A bug," answered Harry simply. "Big and scary. Do you think it'll take over the world?"

"Maybe," said Emily, taken aback slightly. Looking out the window, she could see a jet black motorcycle coming down the road, weaving its way between the cars. "Why don't you go get your things? Your dad's here."

Harry looked up, and stared at the motorcycle, which had pulled into a small driveway on the side of the flat.

A moment later, Sirius appeared in the doorway, holding a motorcycle helmet under one arm, and a set of keys in the other.

"Thanks for watching him, Emily," said Sirius, walking inside.

"No problem," said Emily simply.

"How was he?"

"Oh, the usual. Tried to play with the stove, sneak outside, and play with the neighbor's rottweiler."

Harry spotted Sirius, and ran over to him. "Did you get more macaroni and cheese?" he asked hopefully. Sirius reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a blue cardboard box. Harry smiled.

"Just let me know if you need anything," said Emily, as Sirius and Harry headed out the door, before closing it.

"I hear you tried to play with the neighbor's dog again," said Sirius casually, as he and Harry walked upstairs to their own part of the flat.

"I wanted to play with the puppy," answered Harry.

"The puppy is about a thousand times bigger than you are."Sirius unlocked the front door, and Harry ran inside, heading directly for the kitchen.

Sirius tossed his helmet and coat on the couch, and took off the wire-rimmed reading glasses he wore as if they were real, to help disguise himself so no one would recognize him. Entering the kitchen, he saw Harry staring into the cupboard, still holding the box of macaroni.

"Where's the pot?" he asked, when he heard Sirius enter.

Sirius looked around the tiny kitchen. There was a pile of dishes sitting in the sink, including the only pot they owned. Being only two of them living there, Sirius didn't see the need for a bunch of extra cookware.

Harry watched patiently as Sirius carefully dug through the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink to rescue the pot. When it was finally freed and washed, Harry climbed onto the counter and sat down, watching the water boil.

"Kim's starting school next week," said Harry. Kim was a friend of his that lived across the street. "Can I go, too?"

Sirius turned off the water in the sink, and thought about it. Harry was old enough to start preschool now, but he had been planning on home-schooling Harry. It was safer, in case school officials somehow found out who they really were, or if they had to up and leave without warning. But the neighbors already thought Sirius and Harry were rather strange (Sirius thought it was best if he didn't consort with the neighbors unless necessary) and wondered what they would think if Harry didn't go to school with everyone else. Naturally, they would ask questions, and the city would send social workers to check up on Harry regularly, to make sure he was learning everything he needed to. Needless to say, that wouldn't end up so well.

"What school is she going to?"

"Some place called 'Mailer's'," answered Harry.

"You mean Mahler's?"

Harry shrugged. "If that's what it's called."

Mahler's was a private elementary school a few blocks away. Sirius had heard Kim's mother talking about it a few months before. Normally you had to register at least a month before school actually started. At the moment, it was only a week away.

"I don't think you'll be able to go," said Sirius. Harry's face fell. "I think it's too late. Normally you have to register early."

Harry didn't say anything, but looked crestfallen. When the macaroni was ready, he just sat at the counter and glared at it, as if that was the thing stopping him from going to school.

Sirius noticed this, and sighed. "Alright," he said finally, as Harry looked up at him. "I'll talk to Kim's mother, and see if I can get you in. But I'm not making any promises that they'll accept you."

_The next day, _Sirius spotted Kim and her brother drawing all over their front stoop with chalk. When he let Harry outside to join them, he saw Kim's mother come outside, and decided he may as well ask her now.

He walked across the street, and cleared his throat to get her attention. She looked up, and was surprised to see Sirius standing there.

"Um, hi," said Sirius, just realizing this was the first time he had actually spoken with her. "I'm Adam's father—"

"Oh, yes," she said, remembering. "Louis, right? Haven't seen you around much."

"I work weird hours," lied Sirius, saying the first thing that came to his head. "Anyways, Adam told me that Kim was going to start Mahler's next week."

"Yes," she said, beaming. "I recently got a job there as vice principal, so it was easy to get her in."

"I know it's probably too late, but is there any chance to get Adam in as well?" Sirius asked.

Kim's mother's smile faded. "I'm not sure. They stopped taking registrations last month."

"Oh."

She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a business card with her name and the school's number. "You can try giving them a call," she said. "I don't think it'll work, but you can try."

"Thanks," said Sirius, pocketing the card, glancing at the name: Catherine Hoffman.

_That night, Sirius _called Mahler's, but all the secretary told him was that he would have to come in person in the morning. She wouldn't even tell him if it was possible to get Harry into the school.

"Idiot," muttered Sirius, hanging up the phone. "'I'm sorry sir, you'll have to arrange an appointment in the morning'. Appointment my a—"

Just then the doorbell rang. Sirius stared at it. Emily was the only one who would ever bother to knock, but she wasn't home. Getting up, he looked through the hole in the door, and saw an eight-year-old girl in a green uniform standing there. Wondering what she wanted, Sirius opened the door.

"Hi, my name is Jessica, and I'm selling girl scout cookies to raise money for a trip to Florida. Would you like to buy some?"

"Hold on," Sirius told her, then called for Harry, who came staggering over, having just woken up after falling asleep on the couch. "I'm buying some cookies. What kind do you want?"

"Oreos," answered Harry, rubbing his eyes.

"She doesn't have oreos."

"No oreos?" asked Harry, looking suspiciously at the girl scout.

"We have snickerdoodles, mint, peanut-butter, and oatmeal-raisin," said the girl in answer to Harry's stare.

"Oh," said Harry. Sirius had expected him to say something more, but he didn't.

"I'll get a box of the snickerdoodles and one of the mint," said Sirius, glancing at Harry, who looked as though he was going to fall asleep again.

"Alright," said the girl, writing something down on her clipboard. "That'll be six dollars."

Sirius searched in his pocket for some money, and found a crinkled wad of one-dollar bills. He pulled six of them apart, and handed them to the girl, who placed it in a zipper pouch around her waist.

"I need you to sign this," she said, handing him the clipboard and a pen with a hot pink fuzzy feather sticking out of it. "And write your address."

Sirius began writing his name when the girl spoke.

"You look familiar."

Sirius stopped writing, and looked up at the girl to see if she looked familiar, but he was sure he had never seen her before.

"Kind of like that guy on the news last week," she continued.

"What guy?" Sirius asked.

"That one who's on the run from police in England."

"Oh, him," said Sirius, trying to sound as though it was nothing. "I get that a lot." He finished writing and handed the clipboard back to the girl, who saluted him before walking away.

Sirius shut the door, and saw that Harry was sleeping on the floor right next to him. He leaned against it, and stared absentmindedly ahead of him.

"Crap," he muttered.

_The next morning, _Sirius and Harry were waiting outside the principal's office. Harry yawned. It was eight thirty; normally on weekends he didn't get up until ten.

"Mr. Bentner will see you now," said his secretary, the same one Sirius had spoken to on the phone. Sirius stood up, and he and Harry walked inside.

"Sit down," said Mr. Bentner without looking up. Sirius noticed his office was very pristine, as though he ran a company rather than a school. Even the man's suit looked too expensive to be worn.

"You are Mr. Thomas, right?" he said, glancing at a memo on his desk.

"Yes," answered Sirius.

"As I understand it, you are looking to enroll your son Adam at Mahler's," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes," said Sirius again.

"You are aware that Mahler's stops taking registrations a month before the school year starts?"

"Yes, but—"

"And that term begins next week?"

"Yes, but—"

"How old is Adam?" he asked, taking no notice of what Sirius was trying to say.

"He just turned four," answered Sirius.

"I see," said Mr. Bentner, fiddling his thumbs as he gazed at Harry. "What do you do exactly?"

"What?"

"Your job," said Mr. Bentner as though Sirius didn't understand English.

"I make and repair motorcycles," answered Sirius, knowing how strange that would sound to a man like Mr. Bentner.

"You make _motorcycles_?" he repeated. Sirius nodded. "I see...do you know how much tuition costs?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Fifty dollars a month."

Sirius stared. "For _preschool_?"

Mr. Bentner nodded. "By fourth grade, the monthly tuition will be seventy-five."

"Why so much?"

Mr. Bentner smirked. "Surely you knew Mahler's is one of the most prestigious private schools in New York?"

Sirius shook his head. "I don't know much about American private schools. My neighbor's daughter is going here, and I figured Adam would want to go to school with someone he knew."

"American private schools?" repeated Mr. Bentner curiously. "What do you mean by that?"

"We used to live in South Africa," answered Sirius. That was their story: Sirius was Harry's father, and they lived in South Africa until two years ago. Harry's mother had died, and that was the reason they had moved.

"I see," said Mr. Bentner. Sirius was really annoyed with the way he spoke. He looked through a leather-bound notebook splayed open on his desk, and whistled to himself for a few minutes. "Well, we do have an opening in one of the preschool classes," he said, finally. "If you can afford the monthly tuition, that is."

"Of course," said Sirius, when really he wasn't too sure. He had been saving as much money as he could, so he could use it when he tried to get Harry back to England somehow.

"Adam will be required to wear a uniform of course," continued Mr. Bentner. "which you will have to provide yourself. Khaki pants or shorts, a white shirt, and blue sweater are the standard uniform at Mahler's."

"Where would I find that?" Sirius asked.

"There is a store called 'Birmingham's'," answered Mr. Bentner. "where they sell all kinds of uniforms. I would suggest you try there.

"Now," he said, pulling out a stack of papers, and handing them to Sirius. "These will need to be filled out. You can do them whenever you have the time. When they are complete, just turn them in to my secretary, and she will take care of the rest."

Mr. Bentner stood, and held out his hand for Sirius to shake. Sirius took it, yet wanted desperately to break the man's fingers.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," Mr. Bentner said crisply as Sirius and Harry walked out the door.

Sirius sat down in the same chairs he and Harry had been waiting in earlier, and glanced through the forms.

Date of birth? July 31st, 1980, thought Sirius. He paused just as he was about to write it down. What if the school somehow traced Harry's birth date? He could pretend it was a complete coincidence, but it would be easier changing it. August 14th, thought Sirius, as he wrote it down.

The rest of the questions were like that: insurance number, age, grade, allergies, place of birth, address, phone number, previous school. Harry was quickly bored, and went to look for a vending machine to buy some candy while Sirius finished the school forms. A moment later, Sirius could hear the distant sounds of Harry asking someone to help him with the machine.

Sirius finished just as Harry returned with a bag of M&M's.

"This is boring," he announced, searching the bag for the blue M&M's. "Can we go now?"

"In a minute," said Sirius, walking back into the office, and handing the stack of forms to the secretary, who ignored him when she took them.

When they got into the parking lot, Sirius checked to make sure it was completely deserted, then said, "When you start school, and if anyone asks when you were born, I need you to tell them August fourteenth."

Harry stared at him, chewing a mouthful of candy. "Why?"

Sirius thought quickly for an excuse he could use. "Because I had to lie about your age in order to get you in," he pretended. "So if anyone asks when your birthday is, what are you going to say?"

"August something," said Harry, shrugging.

"Fourteenth."

"Yeah."

"Can you remember that?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll try."

Sirius continued to watch him to see if Harry would actually try, or if he just didn't care. Seeing the look on Sirius's face, Harry replied, "Really. I will."

_By the time _the first day of school came around, Sirius woke at five in the morning to Harry jumping up and down energetically on his bed.

"It's time for school!" he sang. "It's time for school! It's time for school!"

Sirius reached aimlessly to his right for his alarm clock. When he saw what time it was, he said, "It's five in the morning, Adam. Your school doesn't start until eight-thirty."

"I want to go now," said Harry, climbing along the bed so he could yank the covers back. "Get up."

"Go back to bed," groaned Sirius, pulling a pillow over his head. "It's too early."

"You're no fun," said Harry, jumping around on the bed before hoping off.

Half an hour later, Sirius could dimly hear the sounds of crashing coming from the kitchen. Being half asleep, it took awhile to figure out why that could be. Sirius jumped out of bed, stumbled in the doorway, and walked blindly to the kitchen as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Harry was sitting on the counter, eating cereal from the box, with an over-flowing glass of milk next to him. The rest of the milk was spilt all over the floor, as was the remaining cereal, and a shattered bowl.

"What the...?" muttered Sirius, staring at the scene in front of him. "What happened?"

"I made breakfast," said Harry simply.

"Why didn't you just wait for me to make it for you?" Sirius asked, carefully stepping over the mess on the floor to get a towel to soak it up.

"You weren't gonna get up," said Harry. "I'm four. I can make it myself."

After Harry was dressed in his school uniform, he laid down on the couch to watch cartoons as Sirius made him something for lunch, quickly showered, and made a cup of coffee. By the time seven-forty came around, Harry was asleep.

"Come on," said Sirius, shaking Harry awake. "Time for school."

"I'll go later," groaned Harry, trying to roll over. "I'm tired."

"You shouldn't have gotten up so early then," said Sirius, pulling Harry up off the coach as Harry groaned in sleepy protest.

"Here," said Sirius, handing his almost empty cup of coffee to Harry. "Drink that. You'll feel better."

Harry peered into the mug at the light brown, creamy liquid. "What is that?"

"Coffee."

"What's coffee?"

"Just take a sip. It'll help you wake up."

Harry did, and when he finished drinking, he said, "That tastes weird."

Sirius led Harry out the door, down the stairs, and across the street to Kim Hoffman's apartment, where he would get a ride to school.

"Be good," said Sirius, handing Harry a small backpack with Batman printed on the back, which contained his lunch, some pencils, a notebook and a folder. "Don't go terrorizing the teachers, sneaking out of class, hiding gum on the desks, putting bugs in people's food, or anything else I did in school."

"You put bugs in people's food?" Harry asked, grinning as though that was the coolest thing ever.

"Probably, and I don't want Kim's mother calling me about you doing that," said Sirius, as he rang the doorbell to Catherine's apartment.

"Yes?" came her voice from the intercom on the side of the wall.

"Wow! It talks," said Harry, deeply impressed by the intercom.

"It's Louis," said Sirius.

"We'll be right down."

A moment later, the door opened, and Catherine appeared with Kim, who was dressed in a white button-up blouse and a khaki knee-length skirt.

"Thanks for taking Adam to school," said Sirius, walking down the steps with Catherine, Kim and Adam.

"No problem," said Catherine lightly.

Harry climbed into the car, and just as Catherine drove away, shoved his face against the window and made a face at Sirius.

Sirius headed back to his flat across the street. As he neared his door, he could hear yelling from the other side of Emily's door.

"I was waiting for three hours!" Sirius heard Emily yell angrily.

"I told you, I was busy!" yelled a male voice. Sirius supposed this was the voice of Sean, Emily's boyfriend.

"You could have at least called!" snapped Emily.

"I was in the middle of an extremely important meeting, I couldn't very well leave in the middle of it to make a personal call!"

"What about your secretary? Why didn't you just tell her to call me? I had to clear out a good part of my schedule just for this, and you don't even try to tell me you can't make it!"

"Emily, I've told you a thousand times, these things happen! I would have avoided the meeting if I could. Really Emily, I work at the damn Trade Center—"

"I know where you work," interrupted Emily. "And I know how busy you are. But really! A phone call would have been nice."

"I don't have all the time in the world to see to your every need!" roared Sean, his voice echoing throughout the stairwell. "I have a life of my own!"

"Then why are we even together?" yelled Emily. "We never see each other, and when we do, this crap happens. Every time! And you aren't even making a real effort—"

There was a loud smack, and all fell silent.

"Don't you ever accuse me of something you know nothing about," snapped Sean a moment later. The door to Emily's flat opened, and a tall man in an extremely-expensive business suit came storming out. He glared at Sirius for a moment, then continued on down the stairs.

When he had disappeared, Sirius noticed that Emily's door was still open. Sirius paused for a moment, then slowly walked over.

"Emily?" he called, then gently pushed the door open. "Emily?"

He walked inside, and found Emily sitting on the floor, face buried in her knees, one shaking hand raking through her blonde hair. Emily looked up when she heard Sirius enter, and he saw that her face was tear-streaked.

"Are you okay?" he asked urgently, kneeling next to her, knowing what a stupid question it was to ask. Her alleged boyfriend had just hit her, probably smacking her across the face, as all cowards do.

Emily tried to say something, but all that came out was sentences that interrupted each other, and incoherent syllables. She gave up, and a new wave of tears rushed on. Sirius wrapped his arms comfortingly around her, stroking her hair, repeatedly saying, "It's okay."

"I don't even know why I still see him," Emily said thickly into Sirius's shoulder.

Sirius didn't know what to say, so he remained silent.

"I mean, when we met, I thought he was the greatest guy ever. He came to see me every day, and sent me flowers at work for no reason. He told me he loved me, and now...I don't know. It's like he's got a split personality. Sometimes he's everything I've ever wanted, other times he's a complete jerk. I know I should leave him...but I still care too much for him. I mean, I know he makes mistakes, but I can overlook that. We all make mistakes."

Emily pulled away from Sirius, and wiped her eyes. "You must think I'm a complete idiot."

"Of course I don't," said Sirius, pulling her to her feet. It felt strange being in a position like this, especially with Emily, who had just been attacked by her boyfriend Sean. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Why do you even see him?"

Emily paused, looked taken aback. Sirius was just about to apologize when Emily answered.

"It's better than being alone, isn't it?" she said, wiping her eye.

"But he just hit you," said Sirius, slightly surprised by Emily's answer.

Emily shrugged. "He didn't mean it," she said. "He's usually a great guy—"

"Usually?"

Emily glared at him. "Oh, don't you go making Sean out to look like a bad person. Look, I know he isn't perfect, but it was a mistake. Besides, I kind of provoked him. He didn't mean it. He'll call in an hour or so and apologize. It's no big deal."

Sirius watched her disbelievingly.

"Well, I don't mean to kick you out or anything, but I've got to go to work in half an hour. Maybe we can talk some other time, Adam starts Mahler's soon, doesn't he?" said Emily, changing the subject.

"Today was his first day," said Sirius, following Emily to the front door. He turned back in the doorway, and added seriously, "You take care, alright?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll be fine," she said earnestly. "Besides, it's you I'd be more worried about."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, don't you ever get lonely living by yourself?" Emily asked, looking slightly embarrassed.

"I live with—"

"That's not what I mean," interrupted Emily. "Besides, he's in school now. The two of you have lived here for a couple of years now, and I don't remember seeing one girlfriend over."

Emily paused for a moment, then before closing her door she added softly, "I know how hard it must be on you, what with your wife being gone...but I really think she would have wanted you to move on and be happy. No one likes to see the ones they love suffer."

Sirius stood for a long while on the threshold, staring at Emily's closed front door.

-----------------------------

_Originally the chapters_ I had written were pathetically short, so I combined them to make them longer.


	3. samantha and the stupid girl show

_A/N: I really don't have a clue what I'm going to do at the end of the story. I have nearly all the plot planned out, except the end. Ah, well. I'll just make everything up as I go. _

"I sometimes think that shoes have a life of their own. The ones that squeak don't like to leave the shop, and the ones that hurt don't like the person that's wearing them."

-Hans Christian Andersen, from the move _Hans Christian Andersen_

_As the months _went by, Sirius found it was easier than he had expected to have Harry in school and keep their cover story going at the same time. No one seemed to think there was a possibility that Adam and Harry were one and the same. Also, reports about Harry being kidnaped became less common. Sirius supposed that the Ministry was starting to lose hope of finding them.

Sirius felt strange at this. The opportune moment to return Harry to England was approaching, and Harry would live with Lupin now, and grow up learning about who he really is. Not long from now he'd go to Hogwarts as well. But Harry had grown up with Sirius the past three years. Harry thought Sirius was his real father, that his mother had died years before, and believed that there weren't hundreds of people who had spent the past three years searching for the two of them. How was Sirius supposed to tell Harry that everything he thought was real was one massive lie?

Sirius kept going over one of many stupid mistakes he did that week. When he was at his own place and the ministry arrived, Sirius fled with Harry to Lupin's. Sirius could have just left Harry there for the Ministry to find within a few minutes. He could have been raised by Lupin, and this whole mess wouldn't have happened.

But it was too late for that, and Sirius knew that he would have to tell Harry, and that it had to be soon.

On the other hand, life was almost normal for the two of them. Harry was happy at school, Sirius was finally used to disguising himself everyday so as to not be recognizable for who he really was. What if Sirius didn't tell Harry who he really was? That way Harry wouldn't have to be hit with the realization that everything he knew was a lie. He wouldn't have to suffer for Sirius's stupidity.

But no, that wasn't right. How on earth could Sirius possibly hope to stay away from the Ministry and try to raise Harry with a normal life? What if the Ministry burst in out of nowhere any day now? No, Sirius would have to tell Harry the truth, and tell him soon.

But how soon?

_Harry burst into _Sirius's bedroom so suddenly and loudly that Sirius sat bolt upright, thinking the apartment must be burning down.

"Whasmatter?" he said quickly, rubbing his eyes.

Harry stood in the doorway, looking positively petrified.

"What happened?" Sirius asked more urgently, standing up.

Harry didn't answer, but pointed to the living room behind him. Sirius pretended to be pulling a bathrobe on when really he was stowing his wand in his waistband. He followed Harry cautiously into the living room, expecting to see a crazed murder with a gun standing in the front doorway. But there was nothing there.

"What is it?" he asked, looking down at Harry, who pointed silently toward the television. Sirius looked back at it, seeing only a cartoon with strangely-figured girls in green, blue and pink battling some monster that resembled a giant, slimy lizard. Not comprehending, Sirius turned back to Harry.

"They replaced my show!" he said insistently, as though this was the most obvious thing at six thirty in the morning.

Sirius sighed, rubbing his face. He had thought that someone had broken in, or worse...that the Ministry was here, somehow finding out where he was at last.

"They replaced it with some stupid girl's show!" said Harry angrily. "And now I don't know when Courage is going to be back on."

"Courage?" Sirius repeated, trying to recall the show.

"The Cowardly Dog!" said Harry as though explaining one plus one equals two, not eleven.

"Oh," said Sirius. "Well, it might be on again, just at a later time," he added hopefully. "Like eight or something."

"But then I'll miss it when I have to go to school," said Harry grumpily. "We should write that stupid company, and tell them that they need to get rid of that stupid girl show and put Courage back on."

He glared at the television as he said this, watching as the three girls in color-coordinated dresses beat the lizard-like monster to a pulp, its teeth flying everywhere in slow motion.

_Monday morning, Sirius _headed into the kitchen to make breakfast, and paused when he saw Harry sitting on the floor in front of the television, staring at it as though transfixed. Only it wasn't Courage the Cowardly Dog he was watching, or even Scooby Doo. It was "that stupid girl show" from the other day.

"I thought you hated that show," Sirius noted, yawning.

Harry shrugged, but continued to watch as the pink-dressed girl named Blossom kicked out at a giant amoeba with a nineteen-twenties gangster hat.

"Hey, are we evil now?" asked the amoeba, his left eye swollen and a few teeth missing.

"Yup," said the red-haired girl in the pink dress proudly. "It's off to jail for you three."

"Hooray!" said the amoebas together as the they were dragged into the back of a van and driven off to prison.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Sirius asked, staring into the almost-empty refrigerator. He needed to go grocery shopping soon.

"Tacos."

"We don't have any," Sirius said, opening the freezer, looking to see if there were any frozen waffles.

"Spaghetti."

Sirius opened the refrigerator again, and found a bowl of leftover spaghetti. Pulling it out, Sirius tried to remember when it was they had it. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yup," answered Harry.

"Alright," said Sirius slowly, peeling off the plastic and placing the bowl in the microwave.

After the strange breakfast, Harry changed into his school uniform that he developed a newfound dislike towards.

"Why do we have to wear these?" he complained loudly, staring at his reflection in disgust.

"Because the people at your school are insane," answered Sirius absentmindedly. "Now come on, you're going to be late."

Arriving at school, Harry made his way to classroom one-hundred-eight, the same one he shared with his friend Kim. As Mrs. Throttlebottom took attendance, Harry spotted a large Daddy Longlegs crawling across his desk. He remembered Sirius telling him on his first day about hiding bugs in people's food, and found this hilarious. He began laughing, and the girl sitting in front of him turned around and gave him a disgusting look. Harry smiled at her, but she just rolled her eyes and turned back around. Harry was annoyed. Why was she so rude? He looked over her shoulder, and saw her name tag taped on her desk. _Samantha_.

Alright Samantha, the spider's going in your sandwich.

Harry reached into the cubby strapped to the underside of the desk, and pulled out a small plastic box. He dumped out the boxes of crayons and pencils, and put the spider inside. Closing the lid, he put the box back inside his desk.

"What are you doing?" Kim whispered from his left.

"I'm going to put it in her lunch," whispered Harry.

"Who?"

"Samantha," he answered. "That mean girl in front of me."

"Oh," said Kim. Then she added, "It'll be hard to stick it there. Put it in her hair."

"Okay," said Harry, grinning.

"No talking," snapped Mrs. Throttlebottom, looking up from her roll sheet. "If you talk out of turn again, I'll have you stay in during recess."

Samantha turned around again, and smirked at Harry, who felt even more annoyed. What was with her?

He reached back inside his plastic pencil box, and found the spider sitting in the corner. Picking it up by a single leg, he carefully checked to make sure Mrs. Throttlebottom was busy tacking the sheet to the outer side of the classroom door, where it would be collected. He leaned over across his desk, and gently jerked his hand, tossing the spider onto Samantha's long, golden hair. He quickly sat back down in his seat, and stuffed his pencil box back in his desk.

He and Kim stared at the spider for a moment. At first it didn't do anything; it just sat there. Then they watched with suppressed giggles as the spider began crawling through the golden hair, and began spinning a small web. Samantha took no notice.

Harry found it hard to pay attention to what they were supposed to be doing. He kept watching the spider's progress in Samantha's hair.

"I can count to eighty-seven," Kim announced, looking up at Harry from her number chart. "How high can you count? Adam?"

Harry looked back down at his own chart. "I dunno. Fifty thousand."

"You can not," said Kim, looking back at her paper. "That number's not even on here. I don't think we'll learn to count that high until high school."

"What's high school?" Harry asked.

Samantha whipped around. "Wow, you're stupid. Everyone knows what high school is."

"I don't," said Harry distractedly, checking to make sure the spider had not been dislodged from her head.

Samantha rolled her eyes. "It's school, dummy. You have kindergarten, then first grade, then second grade, then third, all the way up to fifth. When you're in fifth grade, then you're in high school."

"No," said Kim indignantly. "My cousin's in high school, and she's old enough to drive! I don't see any fifth graders driving!"

Samantha rolled her eyes yet again. Harry decided to keep track of how many times she did this. When she turned back around, Harry saw the spider sitting on her shoulder

"You should all be able to count to seventy by now," called Mrs. Throttlebottom.

"Is eighty-seven good?" Kim asked Harry in a worried voice.

"I think so," answered Harry, watching the spider connect one end of its silvery thread to Samantha's white blouse, and slowly drop down her arm. The spider landed on her arm, and connected the thread again. As it made its way back up her arm, Samantha looked to see what was there.

"AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

She gave an ear-splitting shriek when she saw the spider, jumped to her feet, and hopped around, waving her arms wildly to dislodge the spider. The entire class turned to stare at her, and Mrs. Throttlebottom cried, "Gracious child, what's wrong?"

Harry spotted the Daddy Longlegs. It landed miraculously on his desk. He whipped out his pencil case yet again, and put the spider in there for safe keeping.

"A spider!" screamed Samantha. "A spider! A spider! Get it off! Get it off! Ew! Ew! Ew!"

Mrs. Throttlebottom tried to calm Samantha, and it took a moment to assure her that there was no spider.

"Adam did it!" wailed Samantha, glaring at Harry, who's jaw dropped. He knew there was no way that she knew that it was in fact he who did it, that she was only blaming it on him because she was a stupid, stuck-up girl.

"Adam, did you put a spider on Samantha?" Mrs. Throttlebottom demanded.

"No!" said Harry, pretending to be outraged.

"Yes, you did!" yelled Samantha. "You're mean! You like spiders! I saw you playing with one on Friday at recess!"

Mrs. Throttlebottom glared at Harry.

"I didn't do it!"

"I bet you have a collection of them!" wailed Samantha, tears pouring down her pink cheeks. Harry stared at her, wondering how someone could possibly be so annoying.

Mrs. Throttlebottom seemed to take Samantha for her word. She walked around the desk, and spotted Harry's crayons all over the floor.

"Why aren't those in your supply box?" she asked, pointing at the crayons.

"They fell out," lied Harry immediately, keeping a perfectly straight face.

"So put them back."

Harry picked up the box, and stuffed it unceremoniously into his desk.

"Put them back in your supply box."

Harry took out his plastic pencil box, and looked as quickly as he could to make sure that he wouldn't squish the spider when putting his crayons back in. Unfortunately, the spider was sitting right in the middle of the box. Harry jerked it sideways to get the spider to move.

"Let me see that," said Mrs. Throttlebottom, taking the box out of Harry's hands, and peering at the harmless spider residing inside. "I thought you said you didn't put a spider on Samantha."

"I didn't!"

"Then what is one doing inside your supply box?"

"It landed on my desk," said Harry. "So I put it in there to keep it from getting squished." Then he added, "His name is Henry."

"I think you need to go to the office," said Mrs. Throttlebottom, dumping Henry onto the floor. Harry stood up, and watched in horror as Samantha stamped on the spider over and over.

"You killed Henry!" roared Harry, pointing at her.

Mrs. Throttlebottom was yelling at him to be quiet and to take a pass to the office, but Harry was too busy yelling at Samantha.

"You killed Henry! You butt-head!"

"Don't call me a butt-head!" snapped Samantha, reaching out to pinch Harry's arm. He retaliated by kicking her shin.

"OW!"

Mrs. Throttlebottom called one of the duty teachers down to escort Harry and Samantha to the office. There they were both forced to sit on uncomfortable wooden stools, staring at a certain spot on the wall in opposite sides of the time-out room.

"It's your fault," muttered Harry furiously. "It's your fault we're not at recess."

"You put the spider on me!"

"Did not! You're just a butt-head."

"Stop calling me that!" she hissed. "You're a fart-face!"

"If you two don't stop talking, then you're going to stay here for next recess as well!" called the irritable office lady from the next room.

Harry found he was extremely bored, staring at the stupid poster on the wall. He spun in a circle on his stool, pants sliding easily along the polished wood. He slid off the stool, and carefully turned the stupid poster he was supposed to be staring at upside down. Samantha kept turning to glare at him out of the corner of her eye. Satisfied, Harry sat back down on the stool, admiring the change to the scenery. Instead of looking at a poster with cartoon people telling you how frightfully terrible it was to get into trouble, and how rewarding being good can be, he was looking at an upside down poster that looked rather comical.

When the bell ran, the irritable office lady appeared in the doorway, and told them to get back to class. Harry walked innocently by, wondering if she'd notice his touch on the poster.

_That night, Sirius _unrolled a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. It was extremely hard to come by, what with it being a wizarding newspaper in England, and he was living as a muggle in America. It was slightly warped from the long delivery and the rain, but the print remained as good as ever. Sirius scanned the front page, and saw a large article saying Cornelius Fudge had replaced the old Minister.

"Bet Crouch loved that," muttered Sirius bitterly under his breath. He read how it was a near tie between Fudge and Crouch, but when Crouch's son was arrested, that offset his chances, and Fudge became Minister instead. Sirius turned to the back of the paper, which had a side story about Crouch's son's trial. As Sirius read it, he was slightly surprised to see that his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange had been arrested as well. Normally she was always very good at eluding the aurors.

_Lestrange was later questioned to the whereabouts of her cousin, Sirius Black, and information about Harry Potter. However, Lestrange said she had no idea where he was, and hadn't seen him since she left school, _read Sirius. Sighing, he set down the paper, and jumped. Harry was standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing up?" Sirius asked, surprised. He folded the paper back up, and set it aside, making sure none of the moving photos could be seen. "It's the middle of the night."

"I had a nightmare," said Harry, inching forward.

"About what?" said Sirius, even though he already knew the answer. Harry had this nightmare at least once a month, more often now that Halloween drew near.

"The same one," said Harry, climbing on Sirius's bed and sitting down next to him. "The guy with the scary laugh, the screaming lady and the green light."

"Are you okay?" Sirius asked. He knew Harry had no idea that it was a real memory, not a fake nightmare. But there was nothing in the papers for four months now about the search for them. Pretty soon everything would have to be explained to Harry, and he would go to England to live with Lupin.

"I think so," said Harry. Then he added, "Why do I keep having the same nightmare?"

Sirius paused for a moment, wondering how he should answer this.

"Sometimes people dream of the same thing several times," said Sirius.

"But I don't want to!" said Harry. "It's too scary!"

"I know," said Sirius, trying to hide the sadness in his voice. "I know it is. But eventually they go away."

"So it'll go away?" asked Harry. "I won't dream about it anymore?"

"Yes," said Sirius, hating himself for lying to Harry.

"When will it go away?"

"I don't know," said Sirius. "It might go away soon, or it might take a long time."

"Oh," said Harry. "I hope it doesn't take a long time. I hate that dream."

He slid off Sirius's bed, and headed to his own room. Pausing in the doorway, he said, "Will you stay with me until I go to sleep again?"

"Of course," said Sirius sadly, getting up and following his godson to his room. He tucked Harry in, and laid down beside him on the tiny bed. Sirius stayed there, long after Harry had fallen asleep, hating himself for lying to Harry and not being able to protect him as much as he wanted to. But he hated himself mostly because he knew it was his fault Harry's nightmares were there in the first place. Wormtail may have betrayed James and Lily, but it was Sirius's suggestion for them to trade secret keepers.

Sirius stared at the sleeping Harry, and could vaguely see his face in the dark. He looked so peaceful lying there. Sirius didn't know how he was going to tell Harry the truth, and completely destroy the comfortable, blissfully ignorant life Harry had always known, and replace it with a chaotic hell.

That's when Sirius realized he could just keep Harry here. He originally planned to bring Harry back because he was sure he'd be moving around a lot to elude the Ministry. But the search was dying down, and Harry was happy. Perhaps Harry would be able to remain Adam Thomas.

But that wouldn't be right. He would be living a complete lie, and if he ever found out the truth...

No, Harry would have to be returned to England. And all the confusion, anger and pain Harry would feel was Sirius's fault, because he's the one who was to blame.

"_It's been years, _Minister," said Mr. Crouch. "No one's seen him, or the Potter boy. I think we should really widen our search for Black."

Fudge thought about this. "How would we do it, though? Black has been able to slip through everything we do."

"Perhaps if he thought that we had stopped the search, he might make a few mistakes he wouldn't normally make if he knew we were still after him. Then we might finally capture Black," said Dumbledore.

"But how?" asked Fudge.

"Send out small bands of Hit Wizards to every country, and have them keep an ear and an eye out for Black. We can inform the _Daily Prophet _that we have called off the search."

"Do you really think Black would be reading the daily prophet from India, or wherever he is?"

"I do," said Dumbledore. "Because it gives a clear explanation on what's going on over here. Clearly Black would want to stay informed."

"True," said Fudge, nodding.

"Alright," said Crouch briskly. "How many wizards do you plan to send to each country?"

"However many you believe is necessary, Bartemius," said Dumbledore. "You are obviously the most experienced in these matters. Perhaps it would be best if you were in charge of the hunt."

"Grand idea," said Fudge, who was taking every bit of Dumbledore's advice now that he was minister. "That is, of course, if you're willing," he added.

Crouch nodded. "Very well. I'll send one Hit Wizard for every hundred thousand people to each country, and have them report to me every three weeks."

"Every hundred thousand?" repeated Fudge, as though he thought there should be a Hit Wizard for every two people.

"There are seven billion people in the world, Minister," said Crouch. "We do not have nearly enough Hit Wizards to dispatch."

"What if we asked each country to send their own?" suggested Dumbledore. "English Hit Wizards in England, Indian in India, Dutch in Holland...that way we would be able to search much more thoroughly."

"I'm not sure other countries want to be more involved than Black's already made them," said Crouch stiffly.

"That may be true," said Dumbledore, nodding. "But if they are really that comfortable risking Black hiding beyond their borders, then that is their decision."

"Nonsense," said Fudge. "Barty, send owls to all the other Ministers, and explain the situation. Tell them I would like a response as soon as possible. I want Black captured and dealt with so we can all move on with our lives."

"Very well," said Crouch nodding curtly, then leaving Fudge's office.

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	4. the daily prophet

_A/N: I rewrote this chapter at least eight times, even though it turned out to be mostly filler. I have also finally decided on an ending, or at least a vague idea of one, which is a grand accomplishment for me, considering I had no idea how I would end this. I can't remember if I put Lupin as a main character or not, but he won't be in the story much in the beginning, though he will have a fairly large part toward the middle and end. My other story is nearing the climax, so it will take up most of my time, especially with school starting again, and this being my side story, might not be updated often. If that bothers you, forget about this story until this time next year, and it just may be finished by then. _

"Learn from the mistakes of others---you can never live long enough to make them all yourself."

-John Luther

"_Bloody owls," snapped _Robert, making his way through the hall to Fudge's office.

"If it's more letters, I have plenty as it is," said Fudge just as Robert opened the door with a large sack of recently delivered letters. Fudge had several opened on his desk, others he was tossing into his fire. There were small scorch marks on his desk as though he had received a great deal of Howlers as well.

Robert dropped the sack by the doorway. "They think we seriously stopped the search for Black."

"Then perhaps he will, too."

"The wizarding community is going mad with rage," said Robert, sighing. "They demand we take it up again."

"It was never stopped."

"But they don't know that."

Fudge thought for a moment, and sighed. "I'm not cut out for this stuff. Call Dumbledore."

"No need, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, walking into the office. "I am already here."

"Ah, Dumbledore!" said Fudge brightly, clapping his hands together. "Now, about—"

Just then an owl flew through Fudge's open office door, dropped a scarlet envelope on his desk, and flew out again.

"Oh, not another one," said Fudge sadly as the corners began to steam. It suddenly burst into flame and an angry voice filled the room.

"HOW DARE YOU STOP THE SEARCH FOR SIRIUS BLACK?"

"NOW, AS I WAS SAYING," said Fudge over the roaring voice.

"HOW CAN THE MINISTRY POSSIBLY ALLOW A RAVING MURDERER RUN SCOTT-FREE? WHY, IN MY DAY—"

"—WE NEED TO FIGURE OUT A WAY TO INFORM THE WIZARDING COMMUNITY THAT THE SEARCH FOR BLACK ISN'T OVER, WITHOUT BLACK HIMSELF FINDING OUT—"

"—I THOUGHT THE MINISTRY WAS SUPPOSED TO CATCH THIS CRAZED KILLER! HE STILL HAS HARRY POTTER! ARE YOU GOING TO STAND BACK AND LET A LITTLE BOY—"

"—DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS—?"

"—I EXPECTED BETTER FROM YOU!" finished the screaming voice. The envelope burnt itself out into smouldering ash, leaving a new burn on Fudge's desk.

"Now," said Fudge, sighing as he glanced at the latest scorch mark on his desk. "Do you know how we can inform the public we are still looking for Black without posting it in the _Daily Prophet_?"

"Perhaps we can make a special issue that has to be picked up here at the Ministry," suggested Robert.

"Black is much too clever for that," said Dumbledore. "For all we know, he's hiding here in London. He could simply make a poly juice potion, or find another way to disguise himself."

"Then what?" asked Fudge. "Should we just inform all the people currently working here at the Ministry, the staff at Hogwarts, employees at St. Mungo's and so on of the situation, and have them pass it on to everyone else?"

"You could," said Dumbledore. "Though there is a good chance news will reach Sirius Black of what is going on eventually."

"Do you have any suggestions?" asked Fudge, looking exasperated.

"None that are entirely foolproof," said Dumbledore. "You are the Minister of Magic, and the wizarding community looks to you for support and answers."

"Oh, hogwash," snapped Fudge. "Everyone knows you should have been Minister. I myself agree."

"I am flattered," said Dumbledore. "But my place is at Hogwarts. Besides, in time you will manage this position spectacularly."

"Not with this fiasco with Black still going on," said Fudge darkly. "After four years, we're worse off than we were when this started. We don't even have the foggiest idea if Harry Potter is still alive."

"I don't think Black would have taken Harry without a reason to," said Dumbledore.

"What? Does Black plan on ransoming the Potter boy if we catch him?" asked Robert.

"He may," said Dumbledore. "His actions have surprised me greatly. I cannot say for sure what it is he's planning."

"Alright. Robert, send memos to everyone here at the Ministry and St. Mungo's. Dumbledore, I trust you will tell your staff?"

"I already have. They came rushing up to me this morning when they got word of the article in the _Daily Prophet._"

"Good," said Fudge, sounding slightly distracted. "Let's hope we catch Black soon. I've had word from the Americas, the rest of Europe, Africa and parts of Asia. They have agreed, though rather reluctantly, to dispatch Hit Wizards to search for Black in their own countries. Hopefully this will be over before long. Then we can all get on with our lives."

_Sirius had just _returned from the main part of the city when he realized Harry got out of school in two minutes. Cursing under his breath, Sirius ran through the flat, searching for his keys, which had conveniently disappeared. His false glasses kept slipping down the bridge of his nose in his haste, so Sirius whipped them off and tossed them aside as he searched the couch pillows.

"Why did I have to take the subway?" Sirius muttered to himself. "Why not my bike like any sensible person?"

Spotting his keys lying on the wooden floor beneath the table, Sirius dove for them. Just as he snatched them and tried to move away, he hit the back of his head rather painfully on the table. Cursing some more, Sirius crawled out, rushed downstairs, and ran back up as he realized he forgot his helmet. Returning to the small lane that served as a driveway on the side of the building, Sirius crammed it on his head without buckling it, and revved up the engine. A moment later, he was speeding toward the school, hoping he remembered where the cursed building was, as Kim's mother normally brought Harry home.

Sirius raced up the steps of the school a few minutes later, and ran down the deserted hallways until he skidded to a stop in front of Harry's classroom. Rushing inside, he saw that it was completely empty.

"Looking for someone?" asked Mrs. Throttlebottom, coming out from behind a large cabinet.

"Adam," answered Sirius. "Do you know where he is?"

"All students with no transportation wait in the main office upstairs until it can be arranged," said Mrs. Throttlebottom curtly. Sirius could tell she did not approve of him, but he found he could care less. Hurrying up a flight of steps without another word to her, Sirius reached the main office. Opening the door, he spotted Harry sitting on a bench, kicking his feet, which did not quite reach the floor.

Harry turned when he saw Sirius, and smiled. "Dad!"

Sirius felt an awkward twinge in his stomach. He never got used to Harry calling him 'dad', though Harry did it almost every day since he learned to talk.

"You're late," observed Mr. Bentner from a filing cabinet nearby.

"I know," said Sirius coldly. "I was running late, and got here as soon as I could."

"I see," he said, eyeing Sirius with an icy expression. Sirius ignored him and grabbed Harry's backpack. "Be sure to come on time in the future. It would be a terrible shame to lose such a wonderful boy."

"Meaning?" Sirius snapped before he could stop himself.

"Oh, merely that I am sure you are aware that children often wander off after school and get lost. Sometimes kidnaped. This is a big city, Mr. Thomas."

Sirius glared at him for a moment, then grabbed Harry's hand, and led him outside. Unless he was being paranoid, there was something strange about the way Mr. Bentner made that remark.

"Do we get to ride your bike?" Harry asked hopefully. Sirius nodded. He strapped the helmet on Harry's head, and set him on the bike in front of him. Harry loved riding on the motorcycle. He had only been on it a few times before. Normally Sirius made a point to walk, call a cab or take the subway when traveling through the city with Harry.

Reaching their flat fifteen minutes later, Sirius tossed his helmet on the couch, and saw that his answering machine was beeping. He pressed the button, and listened to the message.

"Mr. Thomas, this is Katy Screen from Mahler's. I'm calling to inform you that your son Adam received a lunch detention—"

Sirius turned to look at Harry, who froze in the entryway of the kitchen, a cookie in his hand.

"—after he brought a garden snake into the classroom from morning recess. Being as he had time-out during afternoon recess yesterday for frightening a girl to tears with a spider, I would like to inform you that if Adam keeps this behavior up, it will be suggested he transfer to a different school. Mahler's expects its students to show model behavior. Have a nice day."

The answering machine clicked off.

"You brought a snake in your class?" Sirius asked, still staring at Harry, who nodded. "And what's this about a spider?"

"She was being mean," said Harry. "She's a stupid girl, and kept making fun of me. I put a spider on her, and she screamed. Then she pinched me."

When Sirius didn't say anything, Harry asked quietly, "Are you mad at me?"

Taken aback slightly, Sirius said, "No, of course not. Anyways, I did far worse things when I was at school. Just...don't try to get kicked out, okay?"

"Okay," said Harry, taking a bite of his girl scout cookie. Sirius slumped down on the couch, suddenly feeling very tired. He heard a crunch, and sat up. Pulling a small wad of twisted wire and glass out from underneath him, Sirius realized he had just sat on his fake glasses. Sirius tossed them aside, making a mental note to fix them later.

While Harry changed out of his school uniform in his bedroom down the hall, Sirius stared around the living room, lying on the couch. Light streamed in through the window, giving the room a soft, golden glow.

_Like Emily's hair..._

What? No. Emily has a boyfriend. Besides, you barely know her.

Just then Harry entered the room and turned on the television. He and Sirius spent the next two hours watching old Scooby Doo cartoons, though Sirius hardly paid any attention. He was too confused as to why that thought had popped into his head out of the blue like that. He and Emily were just neighbors, mere friends tops...nothing more.

_There was an _insistent ring, and Sirius stirred slightly. Was it morning already? Opening his eyes, he saw he was still sitting on the couch, and Harry was lying across his lap, watching the television. Seeing Sirius was awake, he looked up and said, "The phone's ringing."

Sirius stood up and walked over to the phone, waiting for the answering machine, fully prepared to ignore it if it was Mr. Bentner.

"Mr. Louis Thomas, this is Cindy Sachar, Mayor of New York City—"

Sirius ignored it and began flipping through the mail sitting on the table next to the phone.

"—calling to inform you that we have not received your census from last month. As the document stated, it is extremely important that you fill it out and return it by mail immediately. If you could send it back completed as soon as possible, it would be appreciated. Have a nice evening."

The answering machine clicked off, to be replaced by a glowing red light. Sirius found a thick envelope at the bottom of the stack, and assumed it must be the census the woman had been talking about. Sirius tore it open, and looked at the papers. It was nothing more than a form asking how many people lived in the household, their names, birth dates, ethnicity, age and so on. Sirius stared at it, wondering why on earth it was so important.

He tossed it aside, making yet another mental note to fill the stupid thing out in the morning.

Sirius headed toward the kitchen, and peered in the empty refrigerator. He needed to go grocery shopping soon.

"What's for dinner?" Harry called from the living room.

"A French delicacy called 'cereal'," said Sirius, pulling a box out from the cabinet. Harry walked into the kitchen, and pulled two bowls and spoons out from the dishwasher.

Halfway through dinner, yells could be heard from downstairs.

"I am not your slave!" roared the unmistakable voice of Emily.

Sirius did his best to tune out the yells, but it was no use. He walked into the living room and turned the television up, but it did nothing to drown out the screaming from below.

"What do you mean, you have a wife?" roared Emily louder than ever. Sirius paused for a moment, surprised, then returned to the kitchen where Harry sat. "You've been cheating on her with me? What do you think I am, your mistress?"

Sirius and Harry looked at each other for a moment. Sirius picked up the two bowls, and made sure to empty them in the garbage disposal in the sink quite slowly. The roaring whirr of the aged disposal drowned out the worst of the screaming from downstairs.

As if sensing that the argument from downstairs was better left unheard, Harry kicked off his shoes and headed for the bathroom to take a bath. That was one of the strange things Sirius noticed about Harry. He enjoyed playing in the muck as much as the next five-year-old, but didn't mind bathing.

There was an echoing bang as Emily's door was slammed shut, and the distant sound of hurrying footsteps, accompanied by yet another slam.

_Sirius stood in _the bathroom the next morning, gently scraping away shaving cream with a cheap, plastic razor. He heard the front door open and slam, and Harry running through the house. Sirius assumed he had gotten the morning paper, and was now hurrying back to the living room to finish watching the Powerpuff Girls, as Sirius learned the "stupid girl show" was called.

Just then something rushed into the open bathroom, and nearly knocked Sirius's knees out from underneath him. The razor nicked the side of his neck, and blood immediately began mixing with the now-stinging white cream. Looking around, Sirius jumped in surprise when he saw a golden dog running back out of the bathroom. Harry came out of nowhere, let out a squeal of joy, and ran after the dog, underwear over his pajama bottoms and a blanket tied around his neck like a cape.

Sirius hurried out of the bathroom, and saw Harry jumping on the couch, the unfamiliar dog lying on the floor nearby, panting happily.

"Adam, how—?"

"Ah, it's the foam monster!" Harry yelled, pointing at Sirius and quickly hiding behind the couch.

"How on earth did this dog get in here?"

"He's got super powers!" said Harry, popping back up.

"I'm serious."

"I found him," said Harry happily. "Can we keep him?"

"He's not ours," said Sirius, staring down at the dog.

"Please?"

"Where did you find him?"

"Outside," answered Harry.

The dog gave a joyful bark, and began chasing its own tail.

"Is this a bad time?" asked a voice from the doorway. Sirius jumped, and turned around to see Emily. "Your door was unlocked. Should I come back later?" she added, looking a little awkward.

"Um...just a minute," said Sirius, staring at the dog, and now fully aware that half his face was covered in shaving cream. He hurried to the bathroom to rinse it off, and realized that he was still in his pajamas, which consisted of a tee shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. Sirius rummaged through the hamper and extracted the pants he had worn the day before.

Returning to the living room, Sirius saw Emily still standing tentatively by the door, while Harry played with the kidnaped dog in the kitchen.

"I just came by to apologize for last night," said Emily. "I didn't realize how loud the fight must have been."

"It's fine," said Sirius, shrugging.

"Are you sure?" Emily asked. "I mean, it can't have been a good thing for Adam to hear it all."

"It's fine," Sirius repeated. Seeing the look on Emily's face he added, "Really."

There was an awkward silence as they both stood in the living room, Harry's joyful yells and the dog's barking coming from the kitchen.

"Well, I guess...I guess I'll see you later, then," said Emily, heading out the door.

"Wait," said Sirius, calling her back. She paused, and turned around. "Do you know anyone who's missing a golden dog?"

"No," answered Emily. "Is that why there's one in your kitchen?"

"Adam rescued it."

Emily shrugged. "I'll ask the neighbors, but I don't think anyone around here has a dog." She opened the front door, and disappeared behind it a moment later.

"Let's name him Robert!" said Harry, running back into the living room, the dog close behind.

"We can't name him," said Sirius, tearing his gaze away from the door. "He's not our dog. Someone's probably downstairs right now, looking for him."

To prove his point, Sirius opened his door and walked downstairs, forgetting that he was in yesterday's clothes, barefoot, and his face was half-shaven. As he reached the font landing, he looked around, but it was deserted. Checking the stoop to be sure, Sirius found no one.

"Mornin', Louis," said Mort, the aged man who lived on the topmost flat upstairs. He was seldom seen without his old war helmet and leg warmers.

"You don't know anyone who's missing a dog, do you?"

"A dog? Nah, I don't think anyone around here has one. All these landlords are uptight about pets. What you need to do is get one you can hide. I mean, I've got my chicken coop hidden away on the stairs on the roo—" he paused. "I mean, an old friend of mine has got chickens on _his _roof, see."

"I told you," said Harry, coming down the stairs. "Can I come to the grocery store with you? We need to buy Robert some food."

"Who's Robert?" Mort asked.

"The dog Adam found," answered Sirius.

"Can we keep him?" Harry asked, reaching the landing. "I promise I'll take care of him! I'll even teach Robert how to use the potty!"

Mort chuckled. "Kids these days. Always up to strange stuff, eh?"

"You've got feathers on you," said Harry, pointing.

Mort looked at the back of his old hunting jacket, which had several white chicken feathers stuck to it. "You won't tell Warner 'bout my chickens, will you?"he asked in an undertone.

Sirius shook his head. "Nah."

"There's a good lad," he said, picking up his newspaper and heading back upstairs.

"Are you sure this is where you found him?" Sirius asked Harry, who nodded."The dog—"

"Robert," Harry corrected.

"Robert doesn't belong to anyone who lives here," said Sirius. "And no one can get inside unless they had a key or—"

"Maybe Robert was here all night," said Harry quickly. "When that man Emily was yelling at last night left, the dog could have come running inside. It makes perfect sense."

Sirius stared at Harry for a moment, then said, "Fine. Robert can stay for a little while—"

Harry let out a yell of joy, and hurried back upstairs.

"—but I'm putting up posters!" Sirius finished loudly, walking up the stairs after Harry.

While Harry finished getting ready for school, stopping every few minutes to play with Robert, Sirius unfurled a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that had just arrived from England. He glanced at the front page, and chocked on his coffee.

**Search for Black Called Off**

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, has officially called off the search for Sirius Black, who disappeared with the Boy Who Lived after the mass murders of twelve muggles and one wizard four years ago.

"We haven't got a clue where Black disappeared to," said Fudge. "It's been four years, and we are no nearer catching him than we were when this all started. We don't even know if Harry Potter is alive, nor Black for that matter. They could have been dead for years, and we wouldn't know. There's really no point in continuing the search."

Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and in charge of the hunt for Black was unavailable for comment.

Sirius stared at the article, and read it over several times to make sure he wasn't imagining it. He glanced at the date, and saw the paper was nearly two weeks old. Now that they've called off the search, it was time for Harry to go home...

But why did they call off the search? It would make sense if it was after ten years or so, but it's only been four...surely they would have kept looking? Sirius was probably the most wanted wizard in the world now that Voldemort was gone, so why would they stop so soon?

Unless they didn't stop.

Sirius paused, thinking hard. It made no sense to call off the search, especially so soon. What if it was a fluke? Or perhaps they were only pretending to stop. Why? To make him get cocky and slip up? That seemed logical. But why print it in the _Daily Prophet?_ Surely they didn't think Sirius was still in England?

Unless they knew he was getting random copies of the newspaper sent here, to New York. Or rather, suspected. Undoubtedly Dumbledore would realize Sirius would keep up with the news in England.

Sirius sat down on his bed, and tossed the paper aside. It was possible, though rather strange, that it was genuine, that the search really was called off. Perhaps the Ministry really did lose hope in ever finding him...But after only four years?

Sirius sighed. He needed to make up his mind about what the article meant, and soon. If the search really did stop, then he would be able to take Harry back to England, back to the world he belonged, and the sooner, the better. But if it was secretly still going strong, and Sirius headed off to England...how far would they go to catch him? What if they didn't care, and ended up accidentally killing Harry right along with him?

Sirius decided to wait for the next copy of the _Daily Prophet _to arrive before deciding. If he decided to risk it, then if he at least managed to get to England undetected, there was a good chance Harry would be fine. But if the Ministry got word of what was going on before he could reach England...

It was possible Sirius could leave Harry with someone, and attract the Ministry's attention on him, and tell Remus where Harry was, so he could come get him. Sirius would obviously have to tell Harry the truth before leaving, otherwise Harry might not believe the Ministry when they arrived to take him back to England. But what if Harry did something stupid, like run away, or worse, follow Sirius after he had gotten the Ministry's attention?

Sirius decided that would be a back-up plan if taking Harry to England himself didn't work. He just hoped that it would go fine, for Harry's sake.

"It's eight o'clock," said Harry, appearing in the doorway.

"What?" said Sirius distractedly.

"I have to leave," said Harry. "For school."

"Oh—right," said Sirius, following Harry to the living room, and then outside. He walked Harry to Catherine's house, and then headed back to his driveway where his motorcycle was parked. He sat down, but didn't take off for work. Instead he just sat there and watched Harry go inside for a minute, then come back out, accompanied by Catherine and Kim before climbing into Catherine's car and being driven off to school. Sirius continued to watch the car drive away, feeling strangely as though Harry was leaving for good.

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	5. the voice with no name

A/N: GASP! An update!

"A lifetime is more than sufficiently long enough for people to get what there is wrong of it."

-unknown

"_Please?" begged Harry. _"Please? Please? Please? Please? Can we keep him?"

Harry and Sirius were sitting at the kitchen table the next morning. Sirius was writing a description for a "Found Dog" sign, while Harry ignored his breakfast.

"He isn't ours," said Sirius for the millionth time that day. "Someone's probably looking for him right now."

"I'll take care of him," Harry continued earnestly. "_Please_?"

"Even if he is a stray, we can't keep him," said Sirius. "We're not allowed to have dogs. If the landlord finds out, he'll kick us out."

"So we won't tell him," said Harry.

"It's not that simple. Warner pops up out of the blue all the time. Besides...dogs shouldn't be kept hidden in a house. They need fresh air."

"What about the roof?" Harry asked desperately.

"You have to take the stairs to get there," said Sirius. "The ones outside," he added to the hopeful look on Harry's face. He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was almost eight. "You'd better hurry up, you need to leave in a minute. And don't try to fit it all in your mouth again," Sirius added as Harry folded up his waffle and was about to put it in his mouth. Harry obliged rather reluctantly, and slid off the chair, taking normal bites as he went.

Sirius waited in the living room, staring out the window. Snow had already begun to fall, and was coating the street outside in a glistening white powder. Sirius had spent most of the night thinking of ways to get Harry to England. First, he would have to contact Remus, and that would undoubtedly prove to be extremely difficult. For one, Remus thought Sirius was the one who had betrayed James and Lily to their deaths. Convincing him would be the second hardest part, unless Remus didn't believe him and Sirius was left bringing Harry back to England on his own. He would have to find a way to elude the Ministry, and not just the one in England.

The hardest part, undoubtedly, would be trying to explain everything to Harry. Sirius had been thinking about it nearly every day since they left England about what he would tell him, and he still didn't have a clue. It only seemed to get harder as the fateful day drew nearer.

"It's snowing!" said Harry suddenly, hurrying to the window. Sirius jumped in surprise. He hadn't heard Harry enter the room. Harry peered out the window eagerly, watching the first snowfall. Even though it did nothing but snow once Halloween came and passed in New York, Harry was still overjoyed at the sight of the first falling flakes.

"Come on," said Sirius, unsticking his throat. "Time for school."

_The weeks passed _by uneventfully. The owner called the following day about their dog, and Sirius couldn't remember seeing Harry so crushed as he was to see the owner walk away with the dog. He got over it within a week, however, and was soon back to his vivacious self. Sirius, however, was a different story. At first Harry couldn't understand why Sirius seemed so dejected, but assumed he had caught the flu and was just ill. Harry could tell Sirius tried to act normal, but often caught him staring into nothing in silence for long periods of time when Sirius thought Harry wasn't looking.

Harry saw more and more of their neighbor Emily each day than he normally did. When he mentioned this one night at dinner, Sirius said it was nothing, that they were merely friends. Harry, however, knew better.

"Do you like her?" he asked, looking up from his mashed potatoes.

"Who?"

"Emily."

"We're friends."

"Yes," said Harry with an air of impatience. "But do you like her more than that?"

"Of course not," said Sirius a little too quickly, not looking up from his own plate.

"I think you do," said Harry after a pause.

"And what makes you think that?" Sirius asked with a wry smile, as though he thought Harry was being puerile.

"Dad and Emily, sitting in a tree," said Harry in a sing-song voice. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes—"

"Oh? And what about you and dear Kim?" Sirius asked, grinning. "When is the wedding?"

"That's gross," said Harry, pulling a face. "She's a _girl._"

"You're friends with her, aren't you?"

"Girls are fine to be friends with, but anything else is gross. They've got cooties."

"Ah, I see."

"When are you and Emily going on a date?" Harry asked, making a crater in the middle of his mashed potatoes to fill with gravy.

"We aren't," said Sirius.

"Why?"

"I thought you said doing that sort of thing with girls was gross?"

"Emily's not a girl," said Harry in a tone implying he thought this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sirius looked up at Harry, eyebrows raised. "I was under the impression she was. Is she just a very girl-like boy?"

"No," said Harry, thinking Sirius was the one being puerile this time. "She's just...a mom with no kids."

Sirius snorted and choked on his glass.

"What?"

"Nothing," said Sirius, hiding his smile.

"You're laughing at me?" Harry demanded.

"Of course not," he said, forcing a straight face.

"Well, I still think you like her. You're just too scared to ask her."

"I am not," said Sirius, wiping the split juice on the table with his napkin.

"You're not?" Harry asked innocently.

"I'm not."

Harry grinned. "Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove you're not scared to ask her. You have to ask Emily to dinner. Tomorrow."

"I can't ask her tomorrow," said Sirius. "I work late into the night. You're going over to her place, remember?"

"Fine," said Harry. "Before Saturday, then."

Sirius stared at him for a moment, then said, "I can't ask her out—"

"Ha!" said Harry in a victorious tone. "I knew you were too scared."

"First of all, I am not afraid of asking her to dinner," said Sirius, shaking a finger at Harry, who was still grinning triumphantly. "Secondly, she's undoubtedly too busy with work. Thirdly, she's just a friend."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"She is," said Sirius with an insistent note. "Besides, where are you going to be?"

"I'll come with you."

"That's not how a date works," said Sirius. "And Emily's the one who normally watches you when I'm not home."

Harry shrugged. "I'll go to Kim's house."

"There's nothing to argue about. Emily and I are just friends."

"Scaredy-cat," said Harry, wiggling in his chair.

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but just then the phone rang. Sirius got up to answer it while Harry submerged his entire dinner roll in the pool of gravy. The brown sauce erupted over the wall of mashed potatoes and flowed over the side of Harry's plate.

"Hello?" said Sirius, picking up the phone. He glanced over and saw the mess Harry had made. He gave him a warning look and gestured for him to clean it up.

There was no response on the other end.

"Hello?" Sirius repeated with a little more insistency, preparing to hang up.

There was slight static on the other end, then a distorted voice whispered, "I know who you are."

Sirius froze, then said loudly, "Who is this?" despite knowing full well that whoever it was wasn't likely to truthfully answer.

"You and your pretend son," he continued in the same deep, distorted voice. "I know what you did, and all about those people you killed."

Sirius didn't answer at first, but then immediately said, "I have no idea what you're talking about. You've got the wrong number."

The voice merely laughed. "Is that so, Sirius Black?"

"If you ever call me again, or go anywhere near my son, I'll call the police—"

"Is that what you'll do?" the voice asked, sounding gleeful. "Why don't you just kill me? You seem to have an interesting knack at that—"

Sirius slammed the phone down and ran his hands through his hair. His first instinct would be indeed to phone the police, but that would only make a mess of things. He was trying to avoid them, after all.

But who on earth was that? And how did they know about him and Harry, let alone where they were hiding?

"Who was that?" Harry asked, interrupting the silence.

Sirius looked up, paused for a moment, then answered shortly, "No one. Some idiot with the wrong number."

"What did they say?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Prank call," said Sirius. He knew Harry didn't believe him, but Harry didn't press the matter further.

Sirius had no idea what he was going to do. If this person, whoever they were, knew about him and where he and Harry were hiding, then they had to get away. Yet how on earth had they made the connection? Sirius erased all trace of his true identity, and set up very realistic fake ones in their stead. However the person managed it, Sirius knew he and Harry would have to get out now.

And yet...if the person was going to turn him in, why hadn't he done so already? Why was he playing games over the telephone? Was it possible he just wanted to taunt him, and had no real intention of turning him in?

Sirius knew he couldn't risk it. He would have to get Harry out that very night.

"Pack your things," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"We're leaving. Pack all your school stuff and clothes for a few days."

"Where are we going?"

"I'll explain later," answered Sirius tersely. "But right now I need you to hurry, okay?"

"Okay," said Harry with a confused look on his face. He slid off his chair and hurried to his bedroom. Sirius placed Harry's battlefield dinner plate in the sink, and headed toward his own bedroom. He threw a suitcase on the bed, and began tossing a random assortment of clothes inside. He added his wand, all their fake forms of identity, and the collection of _Daily Prophets _from the past few years. He lifted the lose floorboard near the heater below the window, and withdrew an old shoe box filled with muggle money. He separated five hundred-dollar bills and placed them in his pocket. The rest he placed in a plastic bag and threw into his unkempt suitcase. He zipped up the small suitcase, then headed back into the living room.

"Do you have everything you need?" Sirius asked, seeing Harry sitting on the couch with his backpack and a duffel bag. Harry nodded. Sirius grabbed his keys, Harry's helmet, and turned off the kitchen light. He hurried downstairs to the front landing, and out the door toward the small driveway on the side of the building. He tied down his and Harry's bags, strapped Harry's helmet on, and revved up the engine. He pulled onto the street, and headed for a hotel in Manhattan.

When they arrived, Sirius untied their packs, and led Harry into the hotel lobby. He paid for the cheapest room for the one night, took his key, and headed toward the third floor. Harry remained silent in the elevator and the walk to the room. Sirius unlocked the door, turned on the light, and ushered Harry in first before entering himself and dead bolt-locking the door.

There was a single, queen-sized bed in the middle of the room with a small night stand complete with alarm clock, a little round desk in the corner, a tiny bathroom, and a dresser with a television set.

Sirius set their bags down on the rack in the hole that was the closet, and flopped down on the bed. Harry sat down next to him, still silent.

"Here," said Sirius, reaching behind him and picking up the remote from the bedside table. "Watch whatever you want."

Harry took the remote, and the two of them spent the next two hours watching a movie called "Homeward Bound" until they fell asleep.

_Sirius woke early _the next morning after sleeping terribly. It took him a moment to figure out where he was and why he was there. Rolling over, he checked the glowing alarm clock, and the bright red letters told him it was a little after six in the morning.

Sirius got up, grabbed a fresh set of clothes from his bag, and entered the bathroom. The moment he turned on the light switch, bright fluorescent lights blinded him and he immediately wished he hadn't.

For how long he stood in the shower, he didn't know. He was thinking everything over, and wondering what he should do. He thought about staying a second night here, but decided to spent tonight at a different hotel.

He had to call himself in sick for work, and figure out what to do with everything back at the flat. He then had to figure out what he was going to do after tomorrow. Would he simply move away, continue living on hotels, or try to take Harry back to England earlier than he had planned? Sirius didn't think he would be able to get away with that just yet. It was still too early.

That meant either going back to the flat, moving away, or living in hotels. Sirius knew he didn't have the money to live in hotels much longer than two weeks, even if he somehow found a dirt-cheap roadside inn. So what would he do after that? He thought about renting a cheap apartment, and wondered whether he shouldn't just leave the city.

When Sirius finally emerged from the shower, he found Harry watching television, already dressed.

"Are you hungry?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded.

The two of them headed downstairs to the lobby, where a complimentary breakfast table was set up. As Sirius and Harry crossed the lobby, passing by the check-in desk, a man with silvery-blonde hair and an expensive business suit turned around and stopped.

"You're Emily's neighbor, right?" he asked.

"Yes," said Sirius. He noticed Sean had a peculiar little smug on his face but couldn't figure out why.

"How is she these days?" he asked.

"Never better," answered Sirius shortly.

"Remodeling?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're at a hotel thirty minutes from your place," said Sean in an irritating matter-of-fact voice.

"Oh," said Sirius. "Bug bombing. The third floor tenant's termite collection broke loose the other day."

"I see," said Sean. "Well, tell Emily I said hello, won't you?"

"Sure," said Sirius, still wondering about the peculiar expression Sean wore.

"See you around, tyke," Sean said to Harry, who gripped Sirius's sleeve tighter and took a step back. Sean laughed; the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Sirius led Harry away to the other side of the lobby and through a set of double doors into a smaller room where breakfast was served.

"I don't like him," Harry whispered to Sirius.

"I know, he's an idiot," said Sirius. He fixed two bowls of cereal, and sat down at a table in the corner, partially hidden by a large, plastic fern. They ate their breakfast in silence and headed back to their room twenty minutes later.

"When are you going to tell me why we're here?" asked Harry as they emerged on the third floor.

Sirius paused for a moment, then said, "It's just that idiot who called last night."

"I thought you said it was the wrong number."

"Yes, well, he sounded crazy. I didn't want to risk the chance he would come in the night."

"Why would he do that?"

"Some people aren't exactly good, Adam," said Sirius, opening the door to their room. "They kill each other, hurt other people, kidnap children..."

"I don't want to meet anyone like that," said Harry as Sirius shut and locked the door.

"Sometimes they're not easily spotted," answered Sirius, hating himself for the hypocrite he was. "They could even be people you already know and trust."

Harry picked up his bag and followed Sirius back downstairs to check out. Sirius strapped their luggage to the back of his bike, and headed for Harry's school.

After dropping him off, Sirius stopped by the flat with no clear idea why. Upon entering his living room, he saw his answering machine light was beeping. Sirius stared at it for a moment, then pressed the button.

"You have...twelve new messages," said the monotonic drone of the answering machine voice. Sirius stared at it. "Message one..."

Someone chuckled in the recording. "Good evening, Mr. Black," said the same voice from the night before. "I see you're not answering your phone."

"Message two..."

"Still not answering? Oh, what a shame. I really would like to talk to you."

"Message three..."

"Come, now, Mr. Black. You can't hide from me forever."

"Message four..."

"Are you avoiding me, Mr. Black? There's really no need to worry. I have absolutely no intention of turning you in."

"Message five..."

"Now, now, Mr. Bl—"

Sirius shut the answering machine off suddenly, running a hand over his face. Who was this person, and what on earth did they want? _I would really like to talk to you... _About what, and why?

The phone rang out suddenly, causing Sirius to jump. He stared at it for a moment, not daring to answer it. He waited for the answering machine to take it, but it never did. Sirius supposed whoever it was either hung up, or else the answering machine tape was full.

Sirius made up his mind, and knew that he would have to find somewhere else to live that afternoon. He took the tape out of the answering machine, and stowed it in his pocket. Pulling out his wand, be began to shrink all of his possessions until they were the size of marbles, and placed them in a box.

It took about an hour to clear out the apartment. When the entire flat was empty, Sirius pulled the tape out of his pocket and stared at it. Without having a clue why, Sirius searched through the box for the answering machine, returned it to its normal size, and plugged it back in. He placed the tape inside, and pressed 'play'.

"You have...eight new messages," said the dull answering machine voice. "Message five..."

"Now, Mr. Black, you can't avoid me forever. You may as well pick up the phone."

"Message six..."

And it went on like that for a few minutes. Finally, at the last message, something caught Sirius's attention.

"Message twelve..."

"All right, Mr. Black. I see how it is. Why don't you meet me at...oh, I don't know. Central Park? Wednesday at ten a.m. Don't be late, you know that's rude. There's no need to worry, I won't drag the police into this. They have no business in _our _affairs. Good night."

The answering machine finished with "End of final message," and clicked off. Sirius stared at it for a moment. _They have no business in _our _affairs... _What did he mean by that? Normally Sirius wouldn't have thought much of it, but it was strange to put that kind of emphasis on "ours".

Sirius sat back against his bare wall, staring out the empty window. Snow had started to fall again. Sirius realized vaguely he parked on the roadside, and his bike was out in the open. The cold would probably kill the engine.

_They have no business in _our _affairs_...

Sirius thought about it for a long while. This person was clearly insane, and it was certainly possible he was some sort of killer. Perhaps he was one of those murderers who wanted to pair up with someone else. Or maybe he was from a mafia of sorts...

That didn't seem right, Sirius thought dully.

Was it possible this person was a wizard?

Sirius reflected on it for a moment. It made sense, but still didn't explain how on earth this person found him. Sirius had erased all traces of Harry's and his true identities, and made up information to create new ones. He hadn't left a trace behind, so how did this person, whoever he was, find him?

Sirius re-shrunk the answering machine and placed it in the box, and left the flat. Halfway down the stairs he ran into Sean.

"Well, look who it is," said Sean with a fake smile and a strange glint in his eye. "How is the bug-bombing going?"

"Great," said Sirius automatically, staring at him.

"I'm here to see Emily," said Sean in response to Sirius's look. "I do hope her flat isn't infected by the termites as well?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"I've offered her a place in my own apartment, but of course, she insists to stay in this ancient dump. No offense, of course," he added untruthfully.

"None taken."

"But she's always had such a strange taste for the most unexpected things," he added, with a hint of anger in his voice now." He paused for a moment, then said, "Well, I'll see you around."

"Sure," said Sirius, staring after him as Sean ascended the stairs. He then continued his path down, and headed outside into the snow.

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	6. the stalker in central park

A/N: Much thanks to the reviewers. Here is perhaps the story's fastest update.

"I hold this truth to be self-evident: An army has to keep resisting, even if the tide of war has turned against it. Even if it is a winter in Valley Forge. Even if it is dangerous, and painful, and so very, very lonely. One must go on fighting---it is the only honorable thing to do."

-David Klass, _You don't know me_

_Sirius managed to _find a cheap hostel in the Bronx, and rented a room for the next two days. If whoever was stalking him managed to trace him to his flat in the Village, he was certain they would be able to somehow trace him to his hotels. He had to keep moving until he could leave safely for England. As safe as he could, with the entire world searching for him at any rate.

It was a long drive back to Queens, where Harry's school was. Sirius didn't realize how far the Bronx was from Queens, but figured it didn't matter as long as Harry was safe.

Sirius was still thinking deeply about the last message from the Stalker on his answering machine. He knew it was madness to even consider meeting this person, but vaguely wondered how unhinged this person was. What if he was a raving maniac who would go after Harry if he got angry because Sirius didn't show up? It sounded a little far-fetched, but Sirius wouldn't put it past this person, whoever they were. Besides, it wasn't uncommon in New York for stalkers to kidnap people to lure others to them.

Harry didn't say much on the long drive back to the Bronx, but sat quietly, gripping the seat and looking at the crumbling buildings they passed by. He followed Sirius up the cracked stone steps and creaking floorboards to their room, which was on the top floor.

Sirius hadn't actually stepped foot in the room before renting it, but noticed it wasn't in too bad of a shape for thirty-seven dollars a night. The roof was still intact, anyway.

While Harry did his homework on the single, moth-eaten bed, Sirius performed some secret repairs in the bathroom to get warm water running in the shower and the giant crack in the bathtub to vanish. When Harry left to use the bathroom, Sirius would fix the radiator and charm the door and windows to only open from the inside so that no one could break in.

That evening, Sirius walked down the street to pick something up from the corner store for dinner while Harry stayed at the hostel. Sirius was extremely reluctant to leave him there, even for just a few minutes, but knew Harry would probably be in more danger if Sirius brought him with him. If the Stalker managed to trace him to the Bronx, he didn't want to let them know he still had Harry with him.

Sirius purchased a box of pop tarts, a quart of orange juice, and two TV dinners at the corner market. Just as he was paying for his food, a man stormed into the convenience store and started yelling at the woman behind the counter.

"Where is he?" he yelled angrily, scanning the small and nearly deserted aisles.

"Where's who?" said the woman with an air of one readying herself for a fight.

"Don't you give me that shit, you know who I'm talkin' about, woman," snapped the man, gesturing angrily as he spoke.

"You know you ain't s'posed to be here," retorted the woman angrily. "And don't you call me 'woman'. Now git your ass outa here before I call the cops and have them drag your ass outa here for you."

The man ignored her and began searching through the aisles.

"You ain't gonna find nobody," said the woman, ringing up Sirius's things and placing them in a paper bag. The man swore angrily and stormed out of the store without another word. He paused outside the glass doors, looked to each side, and hurried away the way he had come. "Sorry 'bout that," the woman offered Sirius, casting a dark look toward the glass door.

"No problem," Sirius muttered, handing over a ten dollar bill. He dumped the change in an ashtray empty except for a couple pennies and left the store.

Sirius practically ran down the street he was walking so fast, not noticing or caring he stood out like a sore thumb in the crowd of people walking along the sidewalks. He passed by a gang spray-painting graffiti all over a wall, a couple homeless people trying to light something inside a garbage can, and another keying a beat up car before he reached the hostel. He hurried up the stairs and entered the room, locking all the locks behind him.

Harry was lying on the bed, watching the television Sirius had hooked up earlier for him. He looked over when he heard Sirius enter, and sat up when he saw he had dinner.

Sirius placed the orange juice and spare TV dinner in the tiny refrigerator in the corner of the room, and placed the other in the ancient microwave oven for Harry. The pop tarts he placed on top of the refrigerator. While Harry ate, Sirius stared through the window at the street below, packed with cars and people, almost expecting someone to pull out a rocket launcher and take aim any minute.

"Maybe we should call the police," said Harry an hour later, speaking for the first time since Sirius returned from the convenience store.

"No," muttered Sirius dully, still staring through the dirty window.

"Why?"

Sirius paused. "Because the person following us...they'll do something bad if we do."

"Like what?"

Sirius shrugged. "I guess it depends how crazy they are."

Harry didn't say anything more about it the rest of the night. He changed into a pair of pajamas he had in his bag, and climbed into one side of the bed. After checking and rechecking all the locks, Sirius finally lay down on the other side, staring at the dark ceiling. It didn't take long for Harry to fall asleep, but Sirius could barely keep his eyes shut for more than a few seconds. He knew he was being paranoid, but he kept getting a strange feeling the Stalker somehow knew that he was in the Bronx.

Sirens echoed in the distance and muffled voices floated up through the cracks in the window. Finally, well after midnight, Sirius began to drift off to sleep.

_He woke a _few hours later after an uneasy sleep. Checking his watch, he saw that it was a little after five in the morning. He lay there for a few minutes, still disoriented and hoping to fall back asleep. But as the minutes dragged on and his brain slowly started functioning normally again, Sirius felt wide awake and restless, sleep being the last thing on his mind.

He got up, careful not to disturb Harry, who was lying on his back with his limbs sprawled in all directions, and headed toward the bathroom. Sirius glanced at the front door as he walked by and froze as something caught his eye. A small, white envelope, barely visible in the darkness, was poking out from underneath the door.

Panic flooded Sirius for a moment, for his first thought was the Stalker. He managed to regain a grip on himself after a minute, recognizing the possibility it was his bill for the night or a random stray paper. He wasn't convinced, however.

He walked quickly to the door, snatching up the envelope, and went to the window, where moonlight streamed in, and saw immediately it was addressed to him with his pseudonym.

He tore the envelope open and read through the short letter quickly.

_Mr. Black._

_I don't think much of your taste in hostels, but I must say it was a clever choice. I nearly lost you for a moment. Don't forget our meeting. Central Park at ten, near the entrance to the zoo, by Fifth Avenue. I look forward to meeting you personally._

Sirius stared at the paper for a long time, not knowing if he was even breathing. _How _had the stalker managed to find him, and so quickly? What was even more unnerving, he had been _here. _Sirius placed spells to keep anything and everything out, so how had the envelope gotten through? The only explanation was that the Stalker was indeed a wizard, and had taken down his barriers. That meant while he slept, the Stalker could have broken in and taken Harry. Or worse...

Sirius made up his mind instantly. He knew regardless of what he did, Harry wouldn't be safe with him, not with the Stalker following their every move. He would have to find a place where Harry would be safe.

His first thought was leaving for England within the very hour, but was almost certain the Ministry was still after him. He knew it wouldn't be safe even if it wasn't, not with the Stalker.

That only left one option: Sirius would have to deal with the Stalker before he could take Harry back to England. He knew if he left anyway, the Stalker would surely follow, and more than likely refrain from hiding this time.

Sirius would have to find someplace safe to keep Harry first. He couldn't go after the Stalker with him under his care, but he couldn't take him back to England. That left the lone option of leaving Harry with someone.

Sirius's first thought was Emily, but thought that might appear too obvious. She lived one floor down after all, and the Stalker knew quite well where Sirius had lived. But who else? He barely knew Catherine. Besides, she was bound to call the police, regardless of Sirius's warnings, if he were to try and leave Harry with her and Kim. So that left Emily.

Sirius packed several of Harry's things, including the box of pop tarts for an unknown reason, in a single bag. He checked his watch again. It was a quarter after six.

Sirius woke Harry, who protested waking up at first, but was quickly wide awake when Sirius explained what they would be doing.

"Why can't I stay with you?" he demanded, a slightly abandoned expression on his face.

"It's not safe," said Sirius. "The person following us knows we're here, and I don't want him hurting you. So I need you to stay with Emily—"

"But—"

"It's not forever," said Sirius quickly, realizing as he said it that it might just be what happened. He knew he would have to meet with the Stalker at the Park if he wanted any chance in getting rid of him, but didn't realize until now that there was a good chance he might be killed. "It'll only be for a few days."

"Dad—"

"Listen to me," said Sirius urgently. There must have been a pleading note in his voice for Harry fell silent. "It isn't safe anymore. I can't let anything happen to you, or even risk it, so I need you to stay with Emily for a while."

Harry stared at him through the darkness, dim moonlight barely illuminating their features. "Will you come to see me?"

"I'll try," said Sirius, quite certain he wouldn't even consider risking it until he knew the Stalker was off his trail for good.

Harry dressed in a gloomy silence and was silent as they headed downstairs ten minutes later. Sirius headed around back to the covered parking garage where his motorcycle was, only to discover that the cold from the night's fresh snowfall had killed the engine.

Sirius swore under his breath. He thought for a moment, and decided the easiest way to get Harry back to the Village would be the subway. Taxis were an option, but Sirius didn't even want to risk anyone catching more than a split-second's glimpse of Harry and himself.

They walked down the frozen sidewalk toward the entrance to the nearest subway, which was about three block away. Despite the early hour and freezing temperatures, the roads were already beginning to fill with people.

By the time they reached the subway and purchased two tickets that would take them to the edge of the Village, the black sky was beginning to lighten. They barely made it in time for their train, with only five minutes to spare. Unless they took several detour trains, the next one to the Village wasn't until noon.

Harry sat silently the entire journey, staring gloomily at the dark cement outside the windows tattooed with cracks and spray paint. The train was crammed as people were beginning their daily commute to school and work.

The train stopped several times before finally reaching the edge of the Village around eight in the morning. As the older part of the Village itself didn't contain an underground, they boarded a city bus the rest of the way, walking the last two blocks.

By eight thirty, they had arrived back at their flat. Harry would be late for school, but Sirius could ask Emily to blame it on the previous night's snowfall.

They entered the building and walked up to the second floor. Harry was extremely gloomy, but didn't protest being left with Emily for an unknown amount if time. Sirius knocked on her door, his frozen knuckles numb against the hard wood. He hoped she hadn't left for work yet.

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief when Emily opened the door, a half-drunk cup of coffee in hand. She looked startled when she saw who had knocked on her door.

"Are you all right?" was the first thing she said, catching sight of Sirius's worn appearance and the fact that he was knocking on her door out of the blue.

"Can we come in to talk?" Sirius said in a low voice.

"Of course," said Emily, frowning. She stepped back to allow them to enter. Sirius glanced uneasily over his shoulder as he ushered Harry inside before entering himself.

"What's wrong?" Emily asked, shutting the door. "Has something happened?"

"I need you to look after Ha—Adam," said Sirius shortly, just barely catching himself.

"What?"

"It's a long story," said Sirius. "And I know this sounds mad, but I need you to look after Adam for me for a while. It might be a few days, or—I don't know. I wouldn't ask you to do this for me, but there's no one else I can leave him with."

"Of course," said Emily, looking alarmed. "But—Louis, what's going on? I haven't seen you for two days, and your boss came by an hour ago, asking if I've seen you lately. You haven't been coming to work, and they can't seem to get a hold of you by phone."

"It's a long story," said Sirius, just remembering that he was supposed to have been going to work. So much for his job. "But please," he added desperately. "Don't let anything happen to Adam. If anyone so much as looks at him funny—"

"Is someone threatening you?" Emily interrupted. "Is that why you've disappeared?"

"Sort of—look," said Sirius, sighing. "There's this person who's been following me, and I don't have the faintest idea how—"

"Then call the police—"

"No," said Sirius firmly. "I'm not bringing them into this. This Stalker of mine doesn't want them involved. Besides, if I do, he might end up hurting Adam—"

"So leave him with the police," said Emily. "There's no way this person will be able to get to him—"

"You don't understand," said Sirius in an undertone. "Last night we stayed at a hostel in the middle of the Bronx. I rented a room with cash and a fake name, and left absolutely no trace of where we've gone. This morning I wake up to a letter stuffed under the door from him—"

"—Which is even more reason why you should call the police—"

"This person isn't normal," said Sirius quietly. Harry had wandered off into the other room, but Sirius was certain he was listening. "I can't drag the police into this, or the freak might go after Adam. If he can find us out of the blue in the middle of the Bronx, I'm quite certain he'll be able to get to Adam, no matter how safe the police try to keep him."

"So what are you going to do, then?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting him at Central Park in a few hours—"

"Are you out of your mind?" Emily burst out, though not quite yelling. "He'll kill you if you go along with it—"

"He'll probably kill Adam if I don't," said Sirius in an undertone, which was only partially true. He actually had no idea what the Stalker might do if he didn't show up. But if he wanted to get Harry back to England, he had to get rid of the Stalker first.

"Does he want something? How much—"

"He doesn't want money," said Sirius. "He just wants to meet me."

Emily stared at him for a moment. "Why?"

"I have no idea, but he's not going to leave me alone until he does—"

"He's stalking you for that?" said Emily, eyebrows raised. "If he's going to all this trouble to hunt you down out in the Bronx, surely he can just meet you on his own whenever he feels like it?"

Sirius shrugged. "Like I said, this guy's insane. Look, just please do me this one favor. Look after Adam without dragging the police into this until I can get it sorted out. I didn't want to drag you into this, but there was nowhere else Adam could go."

Emily was silent for a moment. "Fine," she said, shrugging. Sirius knew she was perfectly fine about caring for Harry. It was the not calling the police part that really bothered her.

"You won't call the police?"

Emily sighed. "No, I won't call the police."

"Thank you."

There was a pause. "So what are you going to do?" said Emily, staring at him.

Sirius shrugged. "I guess the first thing to do is meet him today. Find out what he wants, and why he's been following me."

Emily was still staring at him. Then she said, "But seriously, Louis! I mean, there's all kinds of protection programs—"

"Those won't work," said Sirius, knowing firsthand how the Stalker was able to get past fake identities and unknown addresses.

"How do you know?" said Emily, starting to sound angry. "You haven't even tried them—"

"I disappeared into the middle of nowhere, and it only took hours for this guy to find me," said Sirius, slightly exasperated. "I don't want the police involved. At all."

Emily glared at him for a moment, then looked away. "Fine. No police. I'll make sure Adam is safe."

Without thinking about what he was doing, Sirius hugged her suddenly and said, "Thank you."

He was about to leave when Harry came out from the other room with a glum expression on his face. He shuffled over to Sirius, and hugged his legs.

"Don't forget to come back," he said.

_Sirius transformed into _a dog in an empty alley way before heading toward Central Park. He wasn't going to just waltz in to the middle of a possible trap from a raving lunatic. He headed into Central Park by the pond and headed toward the small zoo. Despite the snow, there were several people wandering the paths, a few in the snow. As Sirius neared the entrance, he saw several people lining the walkway with their art canvases, offering to draw portraits for ten dollars or else paint names in animal or plant shapes.

Sirius sat off to the side near a large bush, scanning the area. Apart from the artists, the only people could be seen were those going for their mid-morning walks. He looked particularly hard on the pathway leading towards the closed zoo entrance for anyone who appeared to be waiting, but no one could be seen.

Sirius wished he was able to conjure a temporary visual clone of himself. He had a feeling the Stalker, too, was hiding until he saw the person he was looking for.

He waited in the snow for nearly an hour, but as far as he could tell, the Stalker never showed up. Figuring this would go absolutely nowhere this way, Sirius headed back to the place he had entered, back to the alley, and transformed back into a man. Knowing this was both suicide and madness, Sirius headed back onto the street and through a different entrance into the park. If the Stalker was there, he didn't want him to know he was an animagus.

Sirius entered the Park off of Fifth Avenue, and walked the short distance to the zoo entrance. He sat down on an icy bench to wait, feeling his pants soaking up the wetness and the cold. His hands were in his coat pockets, seemingly for warmth, but Sirius kept a firm grip on his wand, and waited.

He sat there uneasily for nearly twenty minutes. When he was considering leaving and tracking down the Stalker some other way, he turned his head toward Fifth Avenue and saw a man approaching purposefully.

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	7. the plan

A/N: To compensate for the delay, I was going to make this chapter quite long, but the things that come after this are too big, and the chapter ended up the length of two. I'll post the other half as soon as possible.

"A mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."

-from Milton's "Paradise Lost"

_Sirius stared at _the man, frozen to the bench where he sat, but not from the cold. He had no idea if this was indeed the Stalker, but couldn't think of an explanation for him walking directly towards him otherwise.

The man was fairly tall, with dark brown hair parted neatly on the side and slicked back. He had a young-looking face, and wore a simple khaki-colored overcoat over his gray suit.

Sirius watched, hardly breathing, as the man approached closer and closer, looking at the ground where he was walking, though seeming to know perfectly where he was going. Finally, he reached Sirius.

But still he did not say anything, or look up. In fact, he made no sign to show that he recognized Sirius at all. He simply approached the bench where Sirius was sitting, and sat down at the other end, bringing one leg up so that his ankle was resting on his knee, looking casually around him.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, taken aback. Surely this had to be the Stalker. Granted, he didn't act nor look like what he had been expecting, but he couldn't possibly be just an ordinary man. Sirius looked away, thinking hard. If this was just a regular person, then perhaps the Stalker wasn't going to show up after all. Maybe it was all some mad hoax, or some kind of demented game.

Unless, of course, this was indeed the Stalker, and he simply wasn't aware that the man he was sitting next to was Sirius Black, the very same person he had been following and threatening for the past few days.

Sirius had no idea what to think, and it was driving him mad. Was this the Stalker or not? And if he was, why was he just sitting there? Sirius knew he would have to make up his mind about the man soon. If he didn't, he might very well lose possibly the only way he would be able to be rid of the Stalker, once and for all.

His mind fighting with itself, Sirius stood up and pretended to look around, hoping to attract the man's attention. If it was indeed the Stalker, he wanted to attract his attention by making it appear as though he was leaving. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man, who can't have been much older than himself, turn lazily to look at him, but he didn't say anything.

He just turned away and continued to gaze off.

Sirius started to walk away slowly, watching the man out of the corner of his eye as he went, half preparing himself for an attack from behind, half watching the man for any sign that he was the Stalker.

If he was, he certainly didn't give it away.

So perhaps he wasn't the Stalker after all. Perhaps he was just a business man on his lunch break, relaxing in the snow-filled Central Park.

As Sirius passed a crowd of people congregated around a hot dog stand near a large black sculpture of two rather comical-looking tropical tribesmen with grotesquely large heads, a male voice said loudly, "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up at all!"

Sirius whipped around, expecting either the Stalker walking toward him or an attack; he didn't know which. But all that was there in the dispersing crowd was a man talking jovially with another. Sirius watched them for a moment then walked away. He had been so sure that was the Stalker. Sirius thought he must be going mad, being disappointed that it wasn't.

He continued walking, nearing the exit by the horse-drawn carriages. Just as he was exiting the Park, Sirius was suddenly joined by a man he had never seen before. Sirius stopped on the sidewalk, staring at him.

"Oh, keep walking," he said, rubbing his hands together. "It's so damn cold."

Sirius took a few tentative steps forward, keeping his eyes on the man.

"Yes, yes," he said casually, now blowing into them. "Nasty snowfall. And just before Halloween!"

Sirius continued to stare at him, taking in every bit of his appearance. The man was rather short, maybe five foot ten, with thinning mouse-colored hair, a hooked nose that put him in mind of Severus Snape, and otherwise simple features.

"Who are you?"

"Me?" the man said, as if someone else was accompanying them. "Name's Mr. Brown."

"Why have you been following me?" Sirius demanded as they walked in the more suburban streets, away from the busy Fifth Avenue on the other side.

"Oh, that hasn't been me," said Brown, chuckling humorlessly as he spoke. "That's been my boss. He's the one who sent me here to meet with you, should you show up."

"And who exactly is your boss?"

"His name's Mr. Green," answered Brown.

"And what does he want? Is he trying to get me to join his color-coded surname mafia?"

Brown chuckled again. "Clever," he said, pointing at Sirius. He suddenly grew more serious, and said, "Actually, he's away on business for a few weeks. He wanted you to know that you don't have to hide the Potter boy, that he wouldn't do anything to him."

"Then why hasn't he come to meet me himself?" Sirius asked suspiciously, not prepared to believe anything Brown just said to him.

"He wanted to," said Brown, shrugging. "Really, he did," he added hastily. "Mr. Green always prefers to do things in person, but was called away on an emergency flight to Venezuela early this morning. Had to leave before a decent breakfast hour."

Sirius stopped walking, and Brown stopped.

"How stupid do you think I am?" said Sirius coldly, staring at Brown. Brown just looked back at him with a blank look on his face. "Do you really expect me to believe this crap? That your supposed git of a boss is away for a month, and Harry will be left out of this? If I was stupid enough to fall for what you're telling me..."

Sirius's voice trailed off.

"Yes?" said Brown, eyebrows raised.

Sirius started walking away. "You tell Mr. Green that I have no interest in the rainbow mafia," he called over his shoulder. "If he wants me, then he can leave it at that. He is not dragging Harry into this."

Sirius walked away, half wondering if Brown was following him.

"You're quite clever," he called from the place where he had stopped. "But I wasn't lying. Mr. Green really is gone. Rather unfortunate, you see. He had a wonderful proposition he was just dying to give you."

Sirius ignored him and kept walking.

"Mr. Green will be expecting you on the twenty-second of November," Brown called just as Sirius rounded a corner.

Sirius ignored him and kept walking. After a few steps he slowed down, distracted. Sirius stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and turned around suddenly. He was going to follow Brown, find out where...what? Sirius didn't know, but knew he had a better chance of dealing with the Stalker if he had some general idea of where the Stalker was coming from. Better yet, where he worked or lived.

Sirius hurried back around the corner, but the street was deserted except for an elderly couple and a delivery truck.

Brown was nowhere to be seen.

Cursing under his breath, Sirius hurried down the street, hoping that Brown hadn't managed to go far. Sirius reached one of the entrances to the Park.

Great, he thought. If Brown was there, it would take ages to find him, and he could have exited anywhere by now.

_Sirius hardly ate _or slept for the next week and a half. For nearly every hour of the day, he was on an almost paranoid watch for the Stalker. Yet not once did he find any sign of him.

Sirius was running out of money, and fast. Very soon he would have to find something other than the cheapest inns in the Bronx to stay the night.

The thing that was eating the most at Sirius's mind was the possibility the Stalker would find Harry. He couldn't think of how it would happen, but then again he still couldn't figure out the Stalker had figured out who he was and where he was so easily. Sirius knew he had to stay away from Harry and Emily just in case the Stalker didn't know about them, but if he did...he was perfectly positioned to attack them, or worse. On top of it all, if that was indeed what would happen, they wouldn't be expecting it.

On the eighth morning since the meeting with Mr. Brown in Central Park, Sirius lay on top of an aged and beat-up mattress in the cheapest hostel he could find in the Bronx, staring at the water-stained ceiling. He was debating with himself whether or not he should risk being followed and warn Emily. He couldn't bear to leave her unknowing, but didn't want to risk the chance that the Stalker would go after her. By the looks of it, the Stalker didn't know about her, and Sirius wanted to keep it that way.

He rolled over on the creaky mattress, staring out the foggy window this time. He could tell the illness was seriously starting to take its toll on him, but he couldn't afford to let it.

He knew what was the only real decision he had, but he didn't know how he was going to manage sneaking Harry off to England without being caught by the Ministry while followed by the Stalker.

He would have to do it as soon as possible, and suddenly. It was the only hope he had of getting out of the country before the Stalker could find him.

Yet that would mean taking Harry away before anything could be explained. This was definitely not the way Sirius would have chosen. But what choice did he have?

The only sure way out of the country was through flight; floo powder had always been too risky, and Sirius didn't want to risk apparating with Harry over such a long distance. He would have to make new passports and ID of course, under a completely new pseudonym.

Making up his mind about it all, Sirius got out of bed and rummaged in the dark for his shoes and coat. He then pulled two quarters from his single suitcase before he shrunk it magically, and placed the lot in his pocket. Silently, he headed swiftly out the creaky door.

Sirius walked for what seemed like a lifetime through heavy snow until he finally came across a phone booth. He shut himself inside, and rummaged through the half-destroyed Yellow Pages until he came across the number for the JFK International Airport. He placed his two quarters inside the frozen slot and dialed the number, amazed the phone still worked in this snowfall.

"Hello, and welcome to JFK International Airport. To better suit our travelers, you have been automatically forwarded to a recorded directory. To confirm a flight reservation, or to cancel, please press one."

Sirius jumped up and down slightly to keep warm in the cold, watching his frozen cloud of breath fill the cramped booth.

"To make a flight reservation," the mechanical woman's voice continued. "Please press two."

Sirius obeyed, and waited.

"Please wait while we transport you to a live receptionist," said the monotonous voice. A moment later, Sirius found himself dully listening to what appeared to be elevator music.

After about two minutes, there came another click, and another voice.

"Welcome to JFK International Airport," came another voice, this one sounding rather tired and bored, though with the forced enthusiasm most receptionists mastered. "Are you looking to reserve a domestic or international flight?"

"International," answered Sirius, looking through the frozen glass to see if there was anyone on the streets. For all the difference it made through the thick snow, he might as well have asked the woman on the other line if there was anyone nearby.

"Coach, business, or first class?"

"Coach."

Sirius could hear the mute tapping of the keyboard in the background.

"And how many in your party, sir?"

"Three," said Sirius, deciding he may as well make it difficult if the Stalker chose to look up the airport's records.

More tapping.

"And your destination, sir?"

"Amiens, France," said Sirius, deciding he might as well make it difficult if the Stalker decided to look up the airport's records. Sirius shut his eyes as he added, "This week, if possible."

There was a pause in the tapping.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're backed up for another week and a half," came the woman's voice, not sounding the least bit sorry.

"A week and a half?" Sirius repeated.

"All our international flights to Europe have been grounded for the next two days due to snow, and we're booked solid on all airlines to France until November nineteenth."

Sirius paused. He thought about asking for the soonest available fligh to any country in Europe, but knew that would be suspicious. That meant the soonest flight to France was only three days before the Stalker supposedly "returned" from wherever he was.

"All right," said Sirius, sighing.

"Any particular airline you would prefer to fly?"

"No," he said, feeling anxious and wishing this would hurry up and be over with.

A bit more tapping on the keyboard. "We have open flights at seven-twelve a.m., two-forty p.m., and eleven-twenty p.m.," she read off the electronic screen she was looking at.

"The seven-twelve one works," said Sirius, automatically choosing the soonest available flight out.

A minute's silence. Sirius listened to the dull tapping, and found it annoying. How this woman could deal with it on a regular basis was beyond him.

"Would you like a confirmation phone call, sir?" she asked, sounding more bored than ever.

"No, thank you," said Sirius, knowing that even if he did, there was no way he could get one with a nonexistent phone line.

"All right," said the woman, suppressing a yawn. "Proper identification and passports will need to be provided on the morning of your flight—"

Sirius was hardly paying attention as he peered through the thick blanket of white.

"—enjoy your morning," she finished, hanging up.

Sirius hurried back to his little room at the crumbling hostel, hoping to get at least a few hours' worth of sleep. After that he would have to prepare everything else for sneaking Harry into England at last. But as he lay there, he realized he was far too alert with anxiety for any hope of sleep.

"_Are you ready _yet?" Emily called from her living room. "Kim and her mother are bound to be leaving soon."

"Almost," Harry called from the spare bedroom he was currently living in. It was a perfect replica in shape and size of his bedroom upstairs, but lacked the old vibrant bedspread, the pictures hanging on the walls, and the Scooby-Doo night light. It looked lonely, somehow, with the simple sheets and white linen curtains.

Harry dug around his suitcase of clothes lying at the foot of the bed for a sock matching the one on his left foot. Failing, Harry looked around the room for a possible place the sock might be hiding. He spotted the other suitcase Sirius had left behind, and decided to look in there. But as he searched, Harry found nothing but a random assortment of clothes, and two old shoe boxes, one held shut with a rubber band around its middle. Harry opened these in turn, prepared to not be the least bit surprised to find a sock in there; Sirius had been so out of it when packing their belongings that night at the hotel.

The first one was filled with weird, plastic toys the size of marbles. Not paying it any more attention in his haste to find a sock, Harry ignored it and moved on to the second box, the one fastened with a rubber band. He looked inside, but only found aged and weathered newspapers rolled up, boring paper work, and a few cut-outs from a local newspaper, though they looked several years old. Harry was about to shut the lid but one of the pictures of the cut-outs caught his eye.

Harry picked it up to examine it more closely, and saw that there was a picture of a boy in the photo who looked remarkably like himself. There was a caption underneath, and Harry tried to read it, but most of it was simple nonsense to him. He did, however, recognize the place "England", and read the name "Harry Potter". Thinking it was a strange name, Harry figured it was the name of the boy in the photo.

As he placed the newspaper clipping back inside the box, Harry vaguely wondered why Sirius had a newspaper photo of some boy who looked like him in a box. Harry thought it was find of funny that someone with a weird name looked just like him and was in the picture, and assumed maybe Sirius did, too.

Harry closed the lid and shut the suitcase, still sockless. He decided to just grab a brown sock, not caring anymore that it didn't match his white one.

Twenty minutes later, as the bell rang for the start of class, Harry sat in his seat, swinging his feet absentmindedly back and forth. Samantha, still angry over the ordeal about the spider, threw him occasional dirty looks. Harry responded by making weird faces at her. Next to him, Kim was giggling.

"How come your neighbor is bringing you over, and not your dad?" Kim asked later, as the class began work on a coloring assignment.

Harry thought about it. In truth, he actually didn't know why Sirius was gone, and why he had to stay with Emily and not him. "He's away," Harry responded simply, looking in his Crayola cardboard box for a red crayon. "He should be back soon, though."

"Where is he?"

"I dunno. China, I guess. Maybe Mars."

Samantha snorted from her desk in front of Harry, and half-turned to say, "Your dad isn't on Mars, dummy. It's a planet. No one can get there."

As she turned back around, Harry took aim and prepared to fling a crayon at the back of her head. He glanced around the room to make sure Mrs. Throttlebottom was too preoccupied with trying to silence Timmy Webster's screaming on the other side of the room to notice. As he was about to throw it, Harry caught Jeremy Wood's eye, the class tattle-tale and Mrs. Throttlebottom's favorite student. Jeremy's eyes were wide, and Harry could see that he was just waiting to burst out with his tale of Harry's misbehavior. Deciding he would get revenge later, Harry lowered his crayon and continued his assignment.

Kim looked over at Harry's drawing. "What is that supposed to be?" she asked, staring at it.

Harry looked at his drawing of a planting pot with lots of fur, and laughed. "Oh, it's from this boy in the newspaper. His name is 'Harry Potter', and I thought the name sounded kinda weird."

Kim smiled. "You're weird," she said, returning to her own drawing of horses.

Harry took a black crayon, and titled his drawing "Hairy Pot-er".

_Finally, after what _seemed like an eternity, November nineteenth was only two days away. Sirius knew he would have to arrive at Emily's early enough to pack Harry's things, but had no idea what he was supposed to say to her. Sneaking in would be a bad idea, for Emily would assume Harry was kidnaped. The last thing Sirius wanted right now was to have the muggle police after him as well.

Sirius also dwelled on the prospect of telling Harry the truth. He wasn't looking forward to it, but knew it had to be done. He wanted to tell him before they got on the plane, to keep from being overheard, and knew he would have to make time for that as well.

Sirius debated over it for a long while, and decided to head to Emily's the next morning, and stay the final night in New York at a hotel near the airport. There he would explain everything to Harry, and leave early the morning after. Finally, it would be over.

As Sirius tried to get one last night of sleep, he realized he was dreading the moment he would have to give Harry up for good more than anything else.

_A man in _a dark suit left the small tunnel connecting the airplane to the waiting area of the airport. As he headed toward the baggage claim, he checked his watch. It was a few minutes until midnight, the start of November eighteenth. His meeting with one Sirius Black at Central Park wasn't until the twenty-forth, but he imagined he could do with a quick check-up, just to see how things were, exactly.

As he waited for his baggage, the man considered finding where Sirius Black was staying that very night, but found he was jet-lagged from the long flight. He would wait until tomorrow night, then. Tomorrow night, he would see what she and Sirius Black were up to.


	8. orcs don't know it

A/N: Much thanks to the reviews. I meant to post this sooner, but the site wouldn't let me log in for nearly a week.

"I walked ten miles in the rain

All I ask, all I ask of you is to do the same.

I see you, right through you, there's a secret behind that frown

I know you, feel a bond with all the autumn leaeves that spin and spiral towards the ground."

-"Orcs don't know it", Mon Frere

_Around mid-afternoon, just _one day before they were due to leave America, Sirius packed up what few belongings he had and made his way carefully toward the flat in the Village. He had no idea how he was going to get all this done without being caught or found out, but knew that there was no other way. Besides, he had planned everything out as best he could.

He would arrive at the flat and take Harry to the hotel waiting near the airport. There he would explain everything to Harry, and take their flight to France early the next morning. He had already created the false passports under new identities, and got the cash needed for the airline flights. If the Stalker truly was in South America for the next few days, then everything should go smoothly.

There was a break in the torrential snow fall, and Sirius couldn't help but hope this was a good sign. Their flight wouldn't be delayed or grounded due to weather, at any rate.

Sirius headed toward the flat in a weird, zig-zag pattern, randomly stopping here and there, trading off between subways, taxis, busses, and walking. If there was anyone following him, they'd have a hard time keeping an eye on him.

Finally, Sirius reached the Village, and trudged through the old frozen snow toward the building he had once lived in. He took several detours through alleyways, both as a shortcut and to keep from being easily spotted on the deserted streets.

As Sirius trudged up the icy steps of the stoop, he had a sudden urge to turn around, but fought it back. He knew what he had to do.

Within what seemed like an incredibly short time, Sirius had reached Emily's door, and had his hand out, about to knock.

Just then he heard voices wafting from the bottom of the stairs on the first floor, and glanced over the banister to see who was there.

Harry looked up from the main floor, saw Sirius, and smiled. "Dad!" he yelled, hurrying up the stairs while Emily was half-finished removing his coat. Sirius couldn't help but smile as Harry sprinted up the last few steps; he nearly fell over when Harry crashed into him and threw his arms around his waist. Emily arrived at the top of the stairs a moment later, and her face fell when she saw the state Sirius was in. She paused for a moment, then quickly opened the door as if just remembering it was locked.

Harry dragged Sirius inside, and like Emily, paused for a moment. As though remembering something, Harry's glee suddenly evaporated and he sulked away into the guest bedroom. Sirius turned to Emily, who answered his question before he could ask it.

"He's just remembered he's angry with you," she said, locking the door and moving to close the curtains. "You haven't been by to visit at all."

"I know," said Sirius wearily. "I didn't want to risk—"

"I know, said Emily reassuringly. She paused, eyeing Sirius with a worried expression for a moment, then said, "You look like hell. Haven't you been sleeping or eating at all?"

"Does it show?"

Emily ignored the slight sarcasm as she abandoned the last window half-way through and headed toward the kitchen, where she put on a pot of tea. Returning to the living room, she sat down on the couch, still staring at Sirius.

"Well?" she said finally.

Sirius didn't know how to reply, though it was perfectly clear what Emily was referring to. Ignoring the question, Sirius remembered the bills in his pocket, and pulled them out.

"This is for you," he said, holding them out to Emily. "for watching Adam."

Emily glanced at the money without taking it. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Keep it."

"Emily—"

"I don't care, I don't want your money," she said firmly. "It was no problem watching Adam. Keep it."

Sirius paused, then put the money back inside his coat pocket, certain that he would simply hide it in her medicine cabinet, someplace where it wouldn't be found until he had already left.

"Adam and I are leaving," Sirius said after a moment's silence, unable to think of any other way to begin explaining. "Tomorrow morning."

Emily stared at him, her brow furrowed. "Where?"

"Back home," Sirius answered.

"Oh."

Sirius nodded, his lips pursed, wondering what he was supposed to say next. He had expected to be bombarded with questions.

"Is this because of the person following you?" she asked.

"Yes and no," Sirius answered truthfully.

She rolled her eyes. "That's no reason to go flying back to South Africa. If he's threatened you, just go to the police—"

"I don't want them in this."

"I know, and you're being stupid," said Emily. "You're letting this psycho ruin your life, Louis. If you keep this up, it's just a matter of time before he finds you again, and the whole things starts over."

"He's not here," said Sirius. "He's not coming back for another few days."

"How do you know?"

"I spoke to his mafia partner—"

"Mafia?"

"—not long ago in Central Park. Apparently 'Mr. Green' is out of the country."

"And you believed him?"

"It's the only explanation for why no one's been following me since I dropped Adam off."

"So you think," she said, eyebrow raised. "He's probably been following you the entire time, but hiding in the shadows."

"That's very reassuring."

"You're welcome," she said. "And if these people are in a mafia—"

"It's not a real mafia," said Sirius hastily. "It just sounded like one. A demented one."

"How so?"

"They have pseudonyms to match every color of the rainbow. The man I spoke to in the Park called himself 'Brown'."

"And that's not an organized whatever at all."

"I didn't say that."

"So your plan is to flee the country, all because this lunatic is following you and for reasons unknown to common sense, you won't go to the police."

"Yes," answered Sirius. The questions had arrived at last. "But that's not the only reason."

"Oh?"

"I've been meaning to go back anyways," Sirius said. "New York was only temporary."

"So you figure now is the best time?"

"Yes, I do."

"Ah, that makes sense."

"There's no need to be sarcastic," said Sirius, eyebrow raised.

"Would you rather I simply yell?" asked Emily. "Tell you I think you're being incredibly stupid? That running away has got to be the worst possible plan known to humankind?"

"If that's what you'd prefer, go ahead," said Sirius.

"Now look who's being sarcastic," Emily pointed out.

"I wasn't being sarcastic," said Sirius, starting to get annoyed by the argument. "Look, I know you don't like this, but it's the only way. If you knew everything, then you'd understand."

Emily stared at him for a moment, her eyes foggy. She looked as though she was about to say something when suddenly the scream of the teapot pierced the silence. She got up and left Sirius alone in the living room.

Sirius sighed, and sat down on the vintage armchair, staring out the crack in the window between the curtains. Though it can't have been much later than four o'clock, already the sky was darkening. He could see the ice frozen on the fire escape, and the dim yellow lights of the flat next door.

Emily returned holding two mugs of steaming tea, and flicked on the lights to illuminate the growing darkness. She set the mugs on the coffee table, one in front of Sirius and the other for her, and sat down on the couch across from him.

"We've known each other for nearly four years," said Emily slowly, staring at the steam rising in her own mug. "I know that may not be incredibly long, but I always thought it was long enough for you to trust me."

"Emily—" Sirius began, but she cut him off.

"I'm not asking you to confide your innermost secrets to me," she said. "But I would have thought, as _friends, _you wouldn't hide everything from me."

Sirius stared at her, slightly perplexed at her delicate stress on the word "friends".

"I'm scared for you," she said softly, looking at him now. Sirius didn't know what to say. "For all we know this person could be some crazed murderer. He may not stop after you, he could go for Adam next. If you leave, he'll follow you. I know this guy can't be some regular stalker, the way he has you worked up. You're a mess. And yet you refuse to accept help..." She shook her head.

"You keep this up, you're going to be killed," she said.

"_Any new reports?" _Fudge asked Crouch as he entered his office.

"Nothing new," said Crouch stiffly. "The usual reports that no one has seen hide nor hair of Black. Not even suspicious persons that couldn't be cleared."

Fudge sighed.

"I have spoken with the leaders of Italy and the Netherlands," Crouch continued. "According to them, they find this plan a grand waste. They suggest we abandon it for a new one, or else tighten the ropes considerably."

Fudge looked at him. "How are we supposed to do that? It would cost much more than a fortune."

"It has been suggested," said Crouch. "that a reward be offered to whomever finds Black. To open up the search past the government, and allow a competition of sorts in a sense."

"What kind of reward?" Fudge asked as though he did not want to know the answer.

"Money, naturally," said Crouch. "Around the sum of ten or fifteen-thousand Galleons. It has been thought over, and unless Black is captured within two and a half weeks, this other plan remains less costly.

"The Italian Minister has recommended this plan for reasons other than money, I might add."

"And?"

"He feels that a competition with such a reward might spark more determination to capture Black," said Crouch. "A fox hunt, really, if you will."

Fudge thought it over. "Does Dumbledore know about this proposition?"

"Naturally," answered Crouch.

"What does he think of it?"

Crouch looked at Fudge before answering. "He says he's not particularly fond of the idea, what with the risk of people being murdered by Black in the attempt. He does, however, realize the current plan is going nowhere."

Fudge caressed the brim of his bowler hat as he thought.

"My suggestion," said Crouch, with a note of importance in his voice now. "Is that we follow Minister Benvolio Montague's idea of an outright hunt, but add severe restrictions on those who would wish to participate."

"Such as?" Fudge asked imploringly.

"For one, an age limit, forbidding anyone you deem too young should you agree. For another, the willing hunters must be of adequate magical talent. Mediocres, squibs, and muggles will not stand a chance against Black. They must also register with their Ministries, relieving the government of any due responsibility should the participant come to an unfortunate end with Black."

Fudge thought deeply on this. "Send word to the foreign Ministries that I will send them an answer by midnight."

Crouch nodded. "Very well," he said curtly, exiting the room in the same stiff manner.

"_There's no other _way," said Sirius, staring into the steaming depths of his own tea.

Emily made a derisive noise, and said, "There is always another way, Louis! If you didn't keep everything to yourself and asked for help, you might find that running away isn't the only option."

"I'm not fond of it either," answered Sirius honestly. "But if you knew everything, you would agree."

"Oh?" said Emily, eyebrows raised. "You can really decide what I might think when I don't know a thing about what's going on?"

Sirius ran a hand over his face as Emily's temper flared up again.

"I should go."

As fast as it came, Emily's anger disappeared.

"Wait," she said hastily as Sirius stood up. "Don't—I didn't mean..."

Sirius paused.

"I know," he said. "But I have to. It's the only way to keep Adam safe."

He headed toward the bedroom where Harry hid in, but Emily grabbed his arm and held him back. When she touched him, Sirius felt like he had received an electric shock.

"Not yet," she said. "Stay just a little longer. Please."

Sirius stared into her face, registering the pleading look. But something else caught his eye in her expression, and he knew he could not let it happen.

"I have a reservation for a taxi and a hotel," answered Sirius. "I can't stay."

"Yes, you can," contradicted Emily. "Cancel the taxi. I'm not asking you to stay the entire night. Just a few hours more. Please."

"Emily..." said Sirius, sighing. She still had a grip on his arm. He had an overwhelming urge to listen to Emily and stay, but he knew he could not let it happen. It would make matters far worse.

Emily was staring into Sirius's face, only a foot away, and seemed to approach closer and closer without really moving at all. Her look of pleading seemed to transform into something else, something Sirius couldn't quite place. It seemed to be asking for something Sirius wanted to give, but knew he could not.

"May I use your bathroom?" he asked.

Emily paused for a moment, as though she didn't understand the question. When it registered, she stepped back and let go of Sirius's arm. It seemed strikingly cold where her hand had been seconds before and was no longer.

"Sure," she said, looking away. "It's just down the hall."

"Thanks," answered Sirius, walking away. He knew what he had come incredibly close to doing, and could not believe he almost gave in.

"It will ruin everything," he whispered to himself as he locked the door and stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was the first time he had looked at himself properly in weeks, and realized exactly what Emily meant when she said he looked like hell. His hair was unkempt, there were dark circles under his eyes, his face was unnaturally pale, and it had been hollowed out considerably.

Remembering the money suddenly, Sirius pulled out the few hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and placed it behind the toothpaste in the medicine cabinet above the sink.

He turned on the sink and let the cold water run over his hands for a moment before splashing it on his face, as though the sudden cold would wake him up and bring him back to his proper senses.

He returned to the living room a moment later, and found Emily still standing where she was before he left, staring at nothing in particular.

"I should get Harry," said Sirius before he could stop himself. Emily, thankfully, didn't seem to notice he had said a word.

With a slightly confused look on her face, she turned to him and said, "Can you really not stay just a few more hours?"

"Emily," he said, sighing. "Please...don't make this harder than it is."

She looked away with a defeated expression on her face. Wordlessly, Sirius returned down the hall and into the bedroom where Harry was.

"We're going to be leaving in a minute," he told him.

Harry looked up. "Where?"

"Just away," answered Sirius. "Pack up your things. Tell Emily good-bye, and thank her for watching you."

"Okay," said Harry dully, putting away his coloring book and tossing his things inside his suitcase. Sirius watched him without really registering anything around him, feeling as though just breathing was costing him an enormous effort. When Harry had almost finished, Sirius closed the lid to his own suitcase.

"Do you want the paper?" Harry asked, picking up a faded newspaper.

"Just throw it in the trash," answered Sirius without looking up. He picked up the two suitcases and headed back toward the living room, Harry right behind with his school backpack. Sirius hardly noticed that Harry was still wearing his school uniform.

As they entered the living room, Emily asked dully, "When does your taxi come?"

"About six," he answered.

Emily looked at the clock in the kitchen, but didn't say anything.

"Do we have to leave?" Harry asked dejectedly, obviously thinking they would be spending more nights in the Bronx. Sirius and Emily looked at him.

"I'm afraid so," answered Sirius stiffly. He had hoped it would have been easier than this to leave.

"Can't we stay just one more night?" begged Harry, looking up at him. "Please? _Please?_"

Sirius stared down at him, feeling as though his insides were being wrung out. Harry rarely pleaded, despite being five years old.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "But we can't stay."

Harry's look of disappointment was killing him. It was made far worse by the fact that this would be the last time either of them would see Emily again, and Harry didn't even know it yet.

"Take care of yourself, now," said Emily, her voice slightly hoarse as she stood in the doorway. She paused for a moment, a strange look in her eye, then suddenly exploded, "This is so stupid! Louis, if you run away like this, I'm going to tell the police! I don't care if you don't want them involved."

Harry looked startled and slightly confused by her outburst.

"Adam, why don't you go in the other room for a minute," said Sirius, not wanting Harry to watch the oncoming argument.

Harry shot him a perplexed look before heading to the back bedroom.

"Emily—" Sirius began as calmly as he could, but she cut him off.

"No, you're not going to change my mind," she said. "I'm not going to let you do something so incredibly stupid!"

"No, you really don't understand—"

"Then why don't you explain it to me so that I do?" she demanded.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, then sighed. "It's not that simple."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

Sirius stared at her, unsure of what she meant and how he was supposed to answer her. For a moment they simply stared at each other in a heavily disarrayed silence.

"I'm leaving," Sirius said, turning to the door. His voices was surprisingly light compared to how he felt.

Before he could open the door more than a few inches, Emily slammed it shut. Sirius stared at her for a moment, slightly surprised, and said, "You're not stopping me."

"Watch me," she snapped.

"Stop doing this," said Sirius, now equally angry.

"Why? Am I supposed to let you just off and kill yourself?"

"I'm not going to—"

"How do you know?" she said, trying with great difficulty to keep from yelling.

"So call the police," said Sirius. "Tell them about the Stalker. But I'm still leaving."

"No," she said so forcefully it caught Sirius off guard.

"Why don't you want me to leave?" Sirius demanded, staring at her with a quizzical expression.

"Is not wanting you to die a good enough reason?"

"That's not it. What's the real reason?"

"That is it, you—"

"Why, Emily?" said Sirius just as strongly.

"Because I love you, you dumb ass!" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

There was a ringing silence at these words at which Emily stared at Sirius in horror before turning away, running a hand through her hair. Sirius was so stunned he completely forgot about everything around him.

"I..." she began after a moment, but her voice trailed off.

"Emily..." said Sirius softly, barely managing to find his voice.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, half-looking over her shoulder at him. "I didn't mean..."

"I...it can't work, Emily," Sirius said in a low voice.

"Why?" she whispered.

Sirius sighed and looked away, not answering.

"It just can't," he said finally.

"This...this doesn't have anything do to with...with her, does it?" she asked.

"Wh—no—"

"Because I'm not asking you to replace her," said Emily quickly. "Just...will you at least give it a chance?"

"I can't—"

"Of course you can," said Emily, her anger coming back. "Is it because you don't want to?"

"It has nothing to do with that," said Sirius quickly.

"But do you?" she asked.

Sirius hesitated. "There's no point. It would never work."

"But do you?" Emily persisted.

"Emily—"

"Answer me!" she burst out, hitting out at his chest with her hands.

Sirius caught her wrists a split-second too late, and said, "If it were possible...yes, I would."

"Then why won't you?" she asked, staring at him with a mixed expression and leaning in to him a little closer. Sirius's hold moved from her wrists to her hands, and lessened the grip.

"We can't do this," he said softly, his forehead barely grazing the top of hers as he looked down at her.

"Will you not even try?"

Sirius sighed, and let go of her hands. He took a step back; Emily seemed reluctant to move away from him.

Sirius thought deeply, not willing to look at her. Instead he stared out the slightly open window. There was no way he would be able to leave without causing an enormous amount of chaos, the last thing he needed when trying to sneak back into Europe. Unless...

There was only one way to get Harry back to England safely, and the plan Sirius had formulated wasn't going to work, that much was clear. He would have to find another way. He wasn't going to get in the taxi when it came, and he wasn't going to go to the hotel near the airport.

He turned back to Emily. "You really want me to stay?"

She looked taken aback, almost as though she didn't know whether or not to believe what she was hearing. "Yes," she whispered.

"Good," he said softly, taking her hands in his own and holding them against his chest.

From the partially opened window, ignored by the people inside the flat, Mr. Green watched with a slightly murderous stare as they sat on the couch together, Emily lying in Sirius's arms, and gently running a thumb against the .44 pistol at his side.


	9. enter chaos, stage right

A/N: 114 hits to the new chapter, and only one review? Hmm, maybe this chapter will prove more persuadable.

"From all the offspring of the earth and heaven, love is the most precious."

-Sappho

_Sirius checked his _watch, careful not to move more than was necessary. It was half past four in the morning, and Emily had fallen asleep several hours before, lying comfortably on Sirius's chest. Sirius yawned and looked around the dim living room. Only a single lamp provided light, and Harry had long since gone to sleep after he realized they were staying the night.

Carefully, moving so painstakingly slow to keep from disturbing her, Sirius lifted Emily, placed a pillow underneath her, and slid off the couch, setting her down on the cushions. He paused for a moment, watching. When he was satisfied that she wouldn't wake up, Sirius headed to the back bedroom where Harry lay sleeping. He found the suitcases strewn on the floor, and decided to collect those first.

After a quick and silent trip downstairs, Sirius hurried back upstairs for Harry. He picked him off the bed, and Harry stirred.

"Where going?" he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes as Sirius switched off the light and left the room.

"It's time to leave," Sirius whispered. "Go back to sleep."

Harry snuggled closer to Sirius and closed his eyes again.

Sirius returned to the living room, and paused as he looked at Emily. It was cruel, to leave her like this and without a word, but it was the only way. As much as he cared for her, Sirius knew that Harry was more important. He couldn't afford to let go of the plan; he was too far in to back out now.

Silently, Sirius tore his eyes away from the sleeping Emily one last time, and headed out her front door, quietly closing it behind him. As he heard the knob click into place, it seemed to seal her in, offering proof that Sirius would never see her again. It was all for the plan from here on out, now.

Harry slept for most of the cab ride to the airport. The driver seemed rather disgruntled about having to drive around at such a strange hour, but didn't say anything on the journey to JFK International Airport.

Though more than half of the plan had been completed, Sirius was more unnerved than ever. He hadn't gone out in public more than necessary, save his job, and was extremely nervous about entering the airport, despite the safe false passports in his coat pocket.

Sirius carried Harry, who was now half-awake, into the airport with one arm, and dragged a cart carrying their luggage with another. Before reaching the main counter to pick up the tickets, Sirius ducked away into a corner, and, making sure no one was nearby, pulled out his wand and transformed the two suitcases into a single carry-on bag. If worse came to worse, he wanted to be able to leave the plane immediately.

Picking up the ticket was easy, Sirius discovered within the next fifteen minutes. The lady at the counter didn't seem even remotely suspicious of a twenty-five-year-old man with a four-year-old boy boarding a plane to France. However, Sirius noted as he placed his tickets in his pocket and headed for the security terminal, it was Customs he was genuinely worried about.

Hardly anyone was at Security when Sirius approached, carrying a groggy Harry. Sirius had an ominous feeling about it, but couldn't tell if it was actually a bad thing, or if he was simply paranoid. Whatever the case, he acted as naturally as he could as he set the bag on the rotating belt to be x-rayed, and set the sleepy Harry on his feet.

"Please remove any jewelry, coins, and all other metals," said the security clerk automatically, placing a plastic tub on the metal shelf just before the metal detector. Sirius did as he was told, removing his watch and belt, and then proceeding to both his and Harry's shoes.

"Just walk through there," Sirius told him in an encouraging voice, even though it was he who was terrified of the ordeal. "They'll give you your things on the other side."

Harry gave him a sleepy half-smile, and walked purposefully through the metal detector. The security woman on the other side handed Harry his shoes, and beckoned for Sirius to come through.

Just as he walked through, the detector went off.

"Hold on," the woman said, almost lazily, checking the computer monitor on the other side of the metal desk. Sirius felt his heart stop. He wasn't carrying anything metal, but suspected the wand in his pocket was confusing the machines and setting the detector off.

"That's strange," said the lady, frowning, pressing several keys and examining the screen. "Could I get you to please come through again." It wasn't a question.

Sirius backed up a few steps, watching Harry on the other side, who was in turn silently watching him, and proceeded through the detector once again, praying it wouldn't go off. If it did, then that meant a much more thorough search. If they found his wand... Sirius knew they wouldn't simply cancel him out as a freak, and decided not to think about it before he actually had to.

Yet once again, the detector rang out. Sirius closed his eyes for a moment, and waited, knowing what was coming.

"Nothing's showing up," said the woman, seemingly more to herself than to Sirius. Turning to him, she asked, "You got any surgical plates or screws?"

Instantly inspired to lie away, Sirius held up his left hand so that the aged scars from his days at Hogwarts were visible. "I've got pins from a while back."

"That'll be it, then," she said, nodding knowingly. "Don't know why they didn't verify it at check-in. It'd sure make my job easier," she added bitterly, waving him through.

Amazed with his luck, Sirius quickly grabbed his things and hurried to the gate, holding on to Harry's hand to be sure that he was with him at all times.

It was only six, but already there were several people at the gate, waiting in the rows of chairs. Sirius chose to seats near the windows, and Harry laid down next to him. All they had to do now was wait.

_Emily woke up _suddenly, and for a moment, couldn't figure out why she was on a couch in her dimly-lit living room, rather than her bed in the dark confines of her bedroom. She sat up, and checked her watch. As her brain began functioning properly, she began to remember.

Emily looked around the living room quickly, and saw no one. She checked the bathroom and the guest bedroom, but no one was there. In the later room, she saw the suitcases were gone. Emily paused for a moment, staring at the emptiness as she realized what he had done. A sense of anger and betrayal began to take over her newly-conscious state.

She headed back to her living room purposefully, and had almost picked up the phone when a voice cleared itself in her kitchen. Emily jumped and spun around, expecting Sirius, but instead found—

"Sean?" she said, almost disbelievingly.

"That's not happiness to see me," he said simply, folding up the newspaper he had been reading.

Emily was taken aback for a moment, then said defensively. "What are you doing here? You said you'd be in Venezuela for another week."

"I came back early," he said simply, placing an ankle over the other knee.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said flatly, crossing her arms.

"Yes, well, I thought I'd pay you a visit. See how you were doing."

Emily was annoyed now. "It's none of your business, Sean. I want you out of my house. Good bye," she said, turning away. Before she could take a step, Sean's words stopped her.

"I wanted to talk to you about him."

She paused, and slowly turned around, staring at him. "Who?"

"Sirius Black, of course," he said simply.

Emily stared at him, slightly confused. "Who?"

"Ah, forgive me," Sean said, chuckling to himself. "I forget. He goes by a pseudonym. Perhaps you might recognize him under the false name 'Louis Thomas'?"

Emily stared at him. "You're insane. Get out."

"I have only your safety in mind, Emily," said Sean in a falsely hurt voice. Emily snorted.

"Have you seen his..._interesting _newspapers?"

Emily frowned. "Of course not. Spying's your thing."

Sean tilted his head slightly as he picked up the paper he had been reading earlier, and read aloud, "'Search for Black called off...Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, has officially called off the search for Sirius Black, who disappeared with the Boy Who Lived after the mass murders of twelve muggles and one wizard four years ago. 'We haven't got a clue where Black disappeared to," said Fudge. "It's been four years, and we are no nearer catching him than we were when this all started. We don't even know if Harry Potter is alive, nor Black for that matter. They could have been dead for years, and we wouldn't know. There's really no point in continuing the search.'Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and in charge of the hunt for Black was unavailable for comment.'" Sean set the paper down and looked at Emily inquiringly. "Now, why would he keep an article like that?"

Emily stared at him. "Is this supposed to be some kind of game?" she said softly.

"See for yourself," said Sean, simply, handing her the newspaper.

Emily took it, watching Sean mistrustfully as she did so, and nearly dropped the paper when she looked at the front page. There were moving pictures all over it; even some of the headings were crawling around their aged margins. What on earth...?

Emily looked up at Sean helplessly as the paper slipped from her fingers. "What...?" she said weakly, looking back down at the paper, which now lay at her feet.

"For the purpose of this conversation, let's pretend you know all about the wizarding world, my dear Emily," said Sean in more serious tones. Emily simply stared at him weakly, her mouth slightly open in shock. "The shock of such a notion aside, do the details in the paper not sound familiar?"

Emily didn't answer him. It seemed she was trying to figure out if she was dreaming or going insane.

"A man disappearing with a boy," supplied Sean, staring at her. "Four years ago. Isn't that when Louis moved in with his son Adam? Rather coincidental, really."

"I'm going mad," Emily muttered to herself, sitting down at one of the chairs near Sean.

"Nonsense," said Sean sharply. "You, like most non-magical people, have simply been ignorant to the existence of the magical world. Now that you know," he added impatiently. "Let's move past your claiming madness. Don't you think it's just a little _too convenient _that this article matches up with Louis Thomas perfectly?"

Emily turned to stare at him.

"Doesn't it seem just a little strange that he would flee from a Stalker threatening his stability so quickly, and without a word?"

"How do you know about that?" Emily asked softly, as though she was seeing Sean for the first time.

"Because, my dear Emily, as I said before, I was worried for your safety," he said. "I pretended to stalk Black in hopes to scare him away. I knew how close he began to associate himself to you. A mass murderer isn't pleasant company."

"You're mad," said Emily, shaking her head.

"Really? He refused to notify the police," said Sean simply. "Last I heard, they had excellent protection programs. He even up and left in the middle of the night. Surely you've noticed strange things before now?"

Emily stared at him, then said, "Well...yes, but that' can't...there's no way..."

"Louis Thomas is Sirius Black," said Sean.

"How would you know?"

Sean smiled at her. "Ever since I met him, I knew there was something dodgy about him, so I pulled his records during a lunch break a few months ago. He didn't have any. Quite strange, really. Nothing dated earlier than four years previously. The same time Black disappeared with Potter. I couldn't be sure, so I pretended to be after him, just to see his reaction. It was interesting really, considering I would never have known for sure it was him if he had never run off to the Bronx a few weeks ago."

Emily was wordless. "It can't be..."

"He is quite clever," said Sean. "Don't be so shocked that he managed to fool you if he could get away with it against the entire world. Until now, of course."

Emily was in shock. "I let him in my house...I befriended him... I..."

"Yes?" said Sean earnestly, a peculiar glint in his eye.

"Oh my God," she whispered, her head in her hands.

Sean straightened in the chair he was in. "You haven't seriously confided anything to him, have you? Anything that may seriously damage your safety?"

Emily straightened a little, hands through her hair, and she stared at the floor as she thought. "No," she said, shaking her head. Her voice sounded distant. "I mean..."

"Yes?" he pressed.

Emily swallowed, suddenly looking quite ashamed. "Last night...he was here."

Sean waited for her to continue. "And I tried to keep him from leaving... And I told him...I told him I loved him," she whispered in a disgusted voice.

Sean watched her, a stony expression on his face. His voice, however, was quite soft. "And that was it?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Thank God..."

Sean nodded. "You know what this means."

Emily looked at him.

"The police must be notified before Black can leave the country," said Sean.

"He's bound to have already left," said Emily. "And if he's really a—a wizard—surely he's flown away on some broomstick by now."

"I assure you, that would be extremely difficult," said Sean, standing up. He paused, then said in an affectionate voice, "I'll take care of everything. You should stay here. Run a bath. Relax."

Emily looked at him. "What are you going to do?"

"Make sure Black doesn't get away."

"He's a murderer," said Emily. "You'll get killed—"

"I don't plan on going after him myself," said Sean reassuringly. "We have the F.B.I. and S.W.A.T. teams to take care of him for us. They merely need to be told what's at hand."

Emily nodded, still looking very lost.

"Come on," said Sean, leading her towards the bathroom. "Just have a nice, hot bath. I'll be back in a few hours, all right?"

As Emily entered the bathroom, Sean absentmindedly thumbed the gun in the holster at his side as he headed into the living room. Sitting on the couch, he checked to make sure the gun was fully loaded, and waited for Emily to leave the bathroom.

_Sirius was starting _to nod off before he heard an announcement overhead and jerked awake. "International flight 391 to Amiens, France, has been temporarily grounded due to mechanical errors. Mechanics are currently sorting out the situation. We are sorry for any inconvenience."

Sirius repeated the message in his head, becoming more worried as the words sunk in deeper. The longer he was in America, the worse off they would be. He turned to Harry, who was wide awake and reading an abandoned newspaper's comics section.

Yet as another two hours came and went, their flight was no sooner ready to leave than it was earlier that morning. Sirius was really beginning to worry, and couldn't help but reflect on how strangely coincidental it was.

Finally, by eleven o'clock, Sirius couldn't take it. He headed to a nearby flight schedule, and saw that the flight to Amiens, France was grounded until late that evening.

By then it would be too late. The past few hours were pushing it as it was, but another eight would simply be far too much. He had to get out of America. Now.

Sirius spotted a flight attendant at a nearby desk at a different gate, and decided to ask her why the flight was grounded.

"It appears there were some peculiar mechanical errors," she said, reading off her screen a moment later. "The mechanics are on it right now."

"You wouldn't happen to know what kind, would you?" Sirius asked.

The lady looked at him with a slightly suspicious expression.

"It's only that my son's afraid of flights," lied Sirius. "If it's engine trouble, I'd rather tell him in advance. Just so he doesn't hear a message over the intercom on the flight later on and freak out."

The suspicious expressions changed to one of understanding. She tapped a bit more at her computer, and said, "It doesn't appear to be engine trouble. It looks like the entire system simply crashed. They can't get the plane to start, so they're waiting for another to fly in from Frankfurt as a replacement."

Sirius stared at her for a moment, then said lightly, "Okay, thanks."

He walked slowly back to his own gate, thinking fast. The plane, the very same one he was trying to board, couldn't possibly have simply failed completely for no apparent reason. _Not the very same plane._

Sirius stopped suddenly, staring out the foggy windows. The Stalker must have known.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Sirius grabbed his bag suddenly, and picked up Harry.

"Where are we going, now?" he asked as Sirius hurried out of the airport.

"The flight's not going to take off," said Sirius. He knew, now. The Stalker had purposely grounded the plane, knowing full well the situation it would leave Sirius in.

"We're not going to France?"

"Probably not," answered Sirius. Now that he thought about it, he had no idea where he was going. As he reflected on it, he found he didn't care, as long as it was out of the country, even if it meant hiding on a fishing boat to Mexico.

Sirius hurried down the icy street toward the Greyhound Bus Station, thankful that it was so conveniently close to the airport. He would simply take whatever was leaving soonest, and make his way to England from there. The Stalker couldn't possibly hope to find him if he was spontaneous enough.

As Sirius entered the station, he looked first at the schedule, and saw the next bus was due to leave in twenty minutes to Billings, Montana. He had no idea where that was, nor did he care. It would do. As he stood in line to purchase the tickets, Sirius couldn't help but wonder how on earth the Stalker had managed to find him so easily, and how he'd been able to ground the flight so conveniently. It would have appeared as a trap.

As Sirius thought about it, he realized that if the Stalker knew exactly which flight and at what time Sirius was leaving, that would mean he would know about Emily.

Sirius closed his eyes in horror, and his panic rose even further. The Stalker was going to go after her. As things stood, he would very likely have no problem killing her if that meant attracting Sirius.

Making up his mind, unable to believe the mess he was plunged into, Sirius retraced his steps out of the bus station and hailed a taxi, meaning to head directly to the flat.

So much for leaving New York without too much chaos, Sirius thought dully as the cab took off toward Greenwich Village.

_Sean finally heard _the bathtub drain, and smiled lightly to himself, one hand holding the handle of the gun resting in his lap as he relaxed in Emily's living room. It would only be a few minutes, then.

Just then, Sean heard the front door downstairs open and slam shut, and hurried footsteps heading up the stairs, directly for here. Sean stood up, now rather annoyed by the intrusion, and walked to the front door. Not waiting for the intruder's arrival, Sean flung the door open, and fired a shot at him.

Sirius barely managed to stop to keep from running right into the bullet, and nearly fell over in doing so. He had to grab on to the railing for a moment, but quickly regained his balance, whipping out his wand as he peered over the banister.

It was Sean who stood there. Of all people, this was probably one of the last Sirius had been expecting.

"Well, it's really about time we could meet properly, Mr. Black," said Sean casually, as though it was normal to shoot at your acquaintances.

Sirius kept his wand hidden up his sleeve. He couldn't attack Sean now; he had to make sure Emily was all right.

"Why have you been following me?" Sirius asked. Right now his only plan was to keep Sean distracted enough until he could figure out if Emily was safe, or at least until he came up with a better one.

"You don't prove very persuadable, do you?" said Sean. "My assistant Mr. Brown told you I wanted to meet properly in Central Park, did he not? And yet here you are, running away to France. Or at least," he added with a slight grin. "You were heading to France. Tell me, what made you turn back?"

"I'm not going to wait around for you to find me," said Sirius, slowly inching his way up the stairs.

"Sean?" said Emily tentatively from the living room, though Sirius couldn't see her.

Reacting instantly, Sean whipped around and fired. Sirius heard Emily scream, and the shot reverberated off the wall. Sirius whipped out his wand and just as he yelled the first spell that came to mind, Sean turned around and once again fired at him, causing Sirius to fall back several steps and for his curse to miss its target by ten feet. Sean's fire, however, did a better job of finding its target.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Sirius shouted, ignoring the searing pain in his arm. Sean flew back from the force of the spell and crashed into the wall behind him, causing the flat to tremble. The gun flew out of his hand, but he whipped out a firearm from the inside of his coat, and fired.

Sirius ducked as the bullets tore through the railing, sending splinters everywhere. Though his wand was much more dangerous, Sean's gun was faster.

"_Petrificus totalus!" _Sirius yelled through the chaos. He yelled all the spells and curses that came to mind, until finally one managed to find its target in the rain of wood and bullets.

"_Levicorpus!" _

There was a pause as Sean was jerked by his ankle in midair and flung upside down. For a brief second he almost lost his gun, but managed to hang on to it and fire at Sirius just as he appeared around the banister. Sirius barely managed to pull away, and knew he came very close to being shot right in the chest; there was a fresh hole torn open in his coat from the bullet. The curse broke, and Sean fell to the floor in a heap.

Sirius picked up his wand from the debris-encrusted stairs, and fired another spell as Sean gave out one last shot of the firearm. While the bullet didn't enter him, it grazed much deeper than the first had, and within seconds, Sirius could feel the damp wetness as blood oozed down his shoulder.

"_Stupefy!" _Sirius yelled, ignoring the searing pain. Finally, Sirius managed to fire more accurately as Sean searched for the gun he had dropped earlier. He fell to the ground, stunned.

Sirius sighed in relief, leaning back against the ruined railway at the top of the stairs. He looked at the damage on his left arm, and knew that the wound would leave a vivid scar, even with magic. Remembering Emily suddenly, Sirius hurried to his feet, jumped over Sean's unconscious form, and froze in the doorway.

Emily had Sean's gun, and stood in the living room, pointing it directly at Sirius. She had a mad and fearful look, there were the signs of tear streaks on her cheeks, and she was breathing heavily.

"Emily—" said Sirius tentatively, staring at the gun, still frozen in the doorway.

"Don't," she snapped angrily, her voice trembling. Her hand shook slightly as she spoke. "Don't you dare move."

-------------------------

A/N: And just because I'm evil like that, the next chapter won't be posted until the birth of five new reviews.


	10. escape

A/N: I'm not absolutely happy with this chapter, but I figure I might as well post it now, because I don't think I'll have enough time for the next week or two. Much thanks for all the lovely reviews.

"Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes...just be an illusion."

-Javan

_Sirius simply stared _at her. He had no idea what to do or say to her to move the gun away from his direction.

Emily was staring at him in turn, a wild look in her eyes and a fearful expression on her face as though she was expecting Sirius to attack at any moment.

Very slowly, so as not to alarm her, Sirius raised his hands to show he was not armed with anything. He could feel his heart pounding violently against his chest.

For a moment they simply stood like that, and then Sirius said tentatively, hands still raised, "Emily?"

Emily didn't answer him, or show any sign that she had heard him.

"Emily...please," Sirius said as calmly as he could, still watching the gun pointed at him. "Please...put the gun down."

"Where's your—your wand?" she said suddenly.

Not wanting to know how she knew, Sirius lied, "It's in the hallway." He took a half step back so that Emily might see a splinter of wood and mistake it.

Emily, however, seemed to take his movement the wrong way, for she suddenly caulked the gun. When Sirius heard it click, his heart skipped a few beats. He froze for a moment, expecting Emily to fire, but she remained still.

"Get away from the door," she commanded.

Slowly, not taking his eyes off her, Sirius edged away from the door and further into the living room. He was careful to maintain several feet between himself and Emily.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Ad—Harry Potter."

Sirius continued to watch her, mind working furiously to think of a way out of this. Nothing came to mind. "He's not here. He's safe."

Emily giggled suddenly, a slightly mad laugh mingled with disbelief. "Safe?"

"Please, Emily, let me explain," said Sirius, able to hear the urgency in his own voice. "It's not what you think—"

"I thought you were Louis Thomas from South Africa, complete with a son by the name of Adam," she said, a slightly mad glint in her eye. "But that's not it! Sirius Black, mass murderer at large...and now you're trying to tell me that's not it, either?"

"No—yes—not completely," said Sirius quickly. "Some of it's true, but the rest is all wrong. My real name is Sirius Black, but I never killed anyone. Someone else did. I—"

Emily fired at the wall five feet from Sirius's head. Sirius jumped and felt his heart stop.

"_Don't screw with me_," she hissed dangerously.

"Please," said Sirius in a low voice. He could feel his hands, still in the air, shaking. He wasn't scared for his own life so much as for Harry's. If he died, then it was all over for Harry. No one knew where he was, save him. "Let me explain..."

Sirius could see Emily thinking fast, debating with herself about whether or not to let him speak or to just kill him and be over with it. When she didn't answer after a moment, Sirius began hesitantly.

"I'm not a murderer," he said as calmly as he could. "I was framed. One of the people whom everyone thinks is dead betrayed his friends and murdered twelve people when he faked his death to lay the blame on me."

When Emily didn't interrupt, Sirius took that as a sign to continue. "Harry's their son—Lily and James, the people he betrayed—and I only took him with me because I had to. All this time I've been trying to take him back to England."

Emily didn't look persuaded, for she held the gun as high as ever.

"There's a lot more to it, but it's far too much to explain," Sirius said exasperatedly.

Emily shook her head slightly, her eyes fixed on him.

It was then Sirius had an idea.

"You have to believe me," he continued softly.

"No," she said, her voice trembling.

"But you'll trust Sean on this?" said Sirius, eyebrows raised slightly, choosing his words carefully. "He tried to kill you!"

For the first time, Emily's mad fear seemed to fade as it was replaced with uncertainty.

"You're both mad," she said finally, shaking her head furiously. "I won't believe any of this."

"Emily—"

Just then sirens rang out from the distance, and they both jumped, taken off guard. Sirius chose then to react.

Recovering a split second faster, he took advantage of Emily's momentarily-dropped guard to duck down and whip his wand out of his waistband as he went. Emily fired instinctively at the same time Sirius fired his spell, but the bullet missed by several feet. A split second later, Emily fell to the floor, stunned, the gun barely hanging out of her loosened grip.

Immediately, Sirius got back to his feet and hurried to the window. Opening it, he stepped onto the fire escape, and made his way to the ground as quickly as he could, jumping the ladders rather than stepping down them. Sirius hurried to the side alley, and rolled the dumpster with some difficulty to the wall that divided the alley in half, and climbed over.

Sirius ran flat out to the nearby park, not caring who cursed as he flew past or how much attention he was attracting.

Finally reaching it a few minutes later, Sirius hurried through the play area, past the pic nick benches, and toward the giant oak tree. He fell to his knees when he reached the niche at the base of the thick trunk, and found Harry, disillusioned and sleeping. Sirius, breathing hard, quickly gathered him in his arms and disapparated.

"_You say you _don't remember what happened?" a rather burly looking detective asked Emily almost an hour later.

"Yes," she sighed, massaging her temple with a shaking hand. There were police all over the flat, photographing the damage and interrogating Emily. Sean had been taken away for proper questioning earlier when Emily explained to an officer that he had tried to kill her.

"But you say someone else was here?" the detective asked, eyebrows raised.

Emily nodded wordlessly.

"But you don't know how he escaped?" he pressed.

"No," said Emily, shaking her head. "I just passed out somehow, and when I woke up he was gone and you were all here."

The detective pulled out a notebook and scribbled something on it. "Do you know who the man was?"

Emily paused for a moment. "I know his name," she said hesitantly.

The detective seemed to misjudge Emily's discomfort for fear and said in a low voice, "It's all right, Miss, he won't be able to hurt you. But we need his name."

Emily paused reluctantly, then finally said, "Sirius Black."

The man paused for a moment before writing "Serious Black" on his notepad with a furrowed expression. He obviously found the name strange.

Emily doubted they'd be able to trace much about him. When she woke up, she had hoped that it was all some twisted dream, but as she heard Sean's voice from the hall and saw the chaotic mess around her, she knew it was all terribly real. So that meant this Sirius Black person had to be a real wizard. He had undoubtedly flown away on a broomstick or magic carpet by now, Emily had thought to herself dully.

The detective halted a passing officer, and said, "Hey, Frank. This name sound familiar to you?"

The man named Frank looked at the name on the paper, and said, "Oh, yeah. He's supposed to be some murderer on the loose from England. And you spelled it wrong."

The detective turned to a slightly ill-looking Emily and said, "Excuse me, Miss."

Now there was no doubt that everything that had happened earlier was real.

Emily suddenly thought about the previous night and felt sick. She told a _murderer _that she was in love with him. How twisted was she?

Emily put a hand to her mouth, eyes closed, feeling like she might vomit. After a moment she found that she couldn't really stand anymore, and had to sit down on her couch, her head in her hands. Horrified by her affections for the murderer, Emily thought she might pass out again.

"_Where are we _going?" Harry asked indignantly after nearly an hour of traveling in what seemed like no real direction by random means.

"You'll find out when we get there," Sirius had said emptily each time Harry asked the question.

But now Harry was getting annoyed, and wanted to know what was going on. "Dad! Tell me."

Sirius jumped slightly at being addressed as "dad", and glanced down at Harry as they walked down a deserted country road. When he didn't answer, Harry stopped walking and folded his arms, a surly expression on his face.

Sirius tried to pick him up in order to keep moving, but Harry struggled away and ran back about ten feet before turning back to face him. "Tell me where we're going!"

Sirius closed his eyes and sighed. "I can't explain it right now," he said, slightly exasperated. "There's no time—"

"No!" Harry yelled, angry this time. "For a really long time we've been sleeping all over the place. I don't even know if we're in New York anymore! Where are we?"

"We're in New York," said Sirius reassuringly. "Just far away from the City—"

"So where are we going?"

"Not now," said Sirius, picking Harry up before he could struggle away again. "I promise I'll explain it later."

"You always say that!" said Harry loudly from his position over Sirius's shoulder, kicking his legs.

"I can't tell you now," said Sirius earnestly, walking as fast as he could through the slush. "We're out in the open."

"I don't care!" Harry practically yelled. "Tell me where we're going!"

They weren't going to get anywhere at that rate, with Harry screaming and trying to struggle away.

"All right, fine," said Sirius, spotting the bus they were supposed to board a few yards ahead. "I'll tell you in a minute, but you have to stop yelling!"

Harry fell silent, and Sirius was able to board the Greyhound without attracting attention. News obviously hadn't reached this part of the state yet. Normally he would have simply apparated his way to Mexico if he could, but Harry woke up not long after they left the Village, and Sirius wasn't able to travel by magic anymore. He didn't exactly want to have to put Harry to sleep magically to do so.

"Where are we going?" Harry persisted as soon as they sat down in the cracked and worn seats.

"We're going to Canada," Sirius answered in a low voice.

"What's Canada?"

"It's another country, just a few hours north of here," answered Sirius in the same quiet voice, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

Harry, thankfully, didn't persist with more questions for the remainder of the journey to the border. It was around four in the afternoon when they finally arrived, and instead of heading for customs, Sirius led Harry out the bus station and down the road. Already the sky was darkening.

For half an hour they walked in silence, until they reached the industrial part of town, and Sirius spotted a cargo train being loaded.

"You see that train?" he whispered to Harry, who nodded. "We're going to get on that train. But we're going to do it like a game, all right? Kind of like hide and seek, us against everyone you see there. We have to get onto the train without being seen, okay?"

Harry looked at Sirius, and nodded.

Sirius led Harry into the loading station as stealthily as they could, slipping through a hole in the gate fence Sirius cut for them with a pair of pliers he conjured when Harry wasn't looking. Hiding behind unused cargo boxes as they went, Sirius and Harry approached the train.

After nearly fifteen minutes of this, they made it as close as they could without abandoning their hiding place. Yet they were still at least thirty feet off. The box directly ahead was just being slammed shut when the workers moved on to the next one, the door flung wide open.

"Here's what we're going to do," said Sirius in a low voice to Harry, watching the workers that stood between them and escape. "I'm going to distract them, and I want you to get inside that compartment as fast as you can and hide, all right?"

"What about you?" Harry whispered.

"I'll be there right after you, don't worry," he said, still working out his plan as he spoke. "I'm going to leave in a minute," he added. "I want you to run as fast as you can to it the moment those workers aren't looking, okay?"

Harry hesitated, then nodded silently.

"It'll be fine," Sirius said reassuringly before disappearing. He hurried to the other side of the crane that was currently filling a tub-like box with what appeared to be wheat, and pulled out his wand. He spotted an empty cargo jeep just in front of him, only feet away, stacked with wooden crates. Taking aim, Sirius blew apart one of the crates at the bottom, which knocked the others off and tipped the jeep over. Instantly, the air was filled with the workers yelling and hurrying over to see what was wrong.

Sirius ducked behind the blue metal compartment and hurried to the other side so that he could get a better view of the open compartment on the train, to make sure Harry was able to get inside. As he watched, he saw Harry dart across the pavement and struggle to make the three-foot climb into the compartment. Reacting instantly, Sirius waved his wand and an invisible hand suddenly helped Harry inside.

Sirius glanced back at his work just a few feet away before apparating by the doorway. Coming up with an idea suddenly, Sirius flicked his wand once more, and the door to the compartment behind theirs opened. He quickly moved a few of the nearby wooden crates inside that compartment, disguising it to look like the one before it, and hurried inside when he was done.

"Harry?" he whispered, completely blind in the darkness of the metal compartment as he shut the door. It was oddly colder in here than it was outside.

"I'm here," said Harry quietly from the very back, peering over a wooden crate he had been hiding behind. "Is there a light in here?"

"No, but I can open the door once the train starts moving," Sirius offered, sitting down next to Harry.

They sat in silence for what seemed like a lifetime, until finally they felt the train jolt suddenly and begin moving. Harry automatically grabbed on to Sirius, for he had never been on a train before, let alone in a cargo compartment.

After a few minutes, when the train had picked up speed, Sirius moved to the other side of the relatively small compartment and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't move. He pulled out his wand, sure Harry wouldn't see it in the pitch blackness, and opened the door a foot or so magically. Blue light flooded almost half of the compartment, and Sirius quickly stowed his wand back in his pocket.

When he sat back down next to Harry, he knew what was to come next and felt quite ill.

"So we're going to Canada?" Harry asked.

"At first," answered Sirius truthfully.

"Then where?"

"Well, we'll probably go to a lot of different places, but we're going to stop for good in England. You know where that is, right?"

"Yeah," answered Harry. "It's really far away. It's on the other side of the ocean. But why are we going there?"

"We used to live there," answered Sirius.

"Really? When?"

"When you were very little. You were born there, actually."

"Oh."

There was a moment's silence, then Sirius, unable to stand it any longer, finally said, "You know what magic is, don't you?"

"Yeah," answered Harry. "But it's not real. It'd be really cool if it was."

"Magic is real," said Sirius. He could only imagine how strange that sounded to Harry right now.

Harry looked up at him. "No it's not. You're lying."

"I'm not," said Sirius sadly. "I can prove it. What do you want me to do?"

Harry stared at him suspiciously for a moment, then said, "Pull a rabbit out of your hat."

"I don't have a hat."

"If you can do magic, you can make a hat," said Harry knowingly.

Sirius smiled sadly at him for the briefest of moments before pulling out his wand and conjuring a silken black top hat out of thin air. Harry stared at it with wide eyes and seemed to stop breathing.

"How'd you do that?" he whispered finally, not taking his eyes away.

"With magic," answered Sirius, holding up his wand for Harry to see better in the dim light. "This is my wand. You use it to do magic, though if you're really good, you don't always need it."

"Can you teach me?" Harry asked, his voice suddenly filled with excitement.

"I could," said Sirius slowly. "There's a whole group of people who can do magic. But you can't suddenly learn. You have to be born a special way."

Harry's face fell slightly. "I can't—?"

"Oh no, no, you can do magic," said Sirius quickly. "You see, only wizards and witches can do magic. The people who can't are called 'muggles'."

"That's a weird word," said Harry. "Was Mum a witch?"

"Yes," said Sirius, slightly taken off guard at how fast they were approaching the subject. "Your mother was a witch. And you're a wizard."

"How come I didn't know about this?"

"Because witches and wizards like to hide from muggles," answered Sirius, trying to explain it as simply as he could. "They don't want to the muggles to know they're wizards and can do magic."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure," said Sirius, shrugging. "It's always been this way."

"So you can teach me magic?" Harry asked eagerly.

"It's not very easy," said Sirius. "Most people go to school to learn how."

"A magic school?"

"Something like that. The one everyone in England goes to is called 'Hogwarts'. That's where I went when I was young."

"So I can go there?"

"When you're older."

Harry looked annoyed now. "How much older?"

Sirius thought about it. "When you're eleven or twelve. Somewhere around there."

"But that's so long!"

"Yes," said Sirius. "I suppose it is." He then proceeded to explain various aspects of the wizarding world to Harry, from the Ministry to Quidditch to dragons. By the end of his watered-down tale, Harry was fascinated.

"That's why we're going back to England," Sirius finished. "You're going to stay with an old friend of mine named Remus Lupin. At least for awhile. When you're older you can go to Hogwarts and learn everything there is to know about our world. You can play Quidditch for your House team, too."

"Wow," said Harry softly. "Magic sounds so cool."

"Yes," said Sirius slowly. "But it can also be bad."

Harry looked up at him, slightly confused. "How?"

"Not all wizards are good. Many of them use magic to hurt and kill other people."

"But that Ministry should be able to stop them, right?"

"Sometimes," answered Sirius. He looked as though he was about to say something, but hesitated.

"Tell me!" Harry said breathlessly.

Sirius paused, then continued, "A few years before you were born there was a wizard named Lord Voldemort. He was the most powerfully evil wizard to ever exist, and he raised His own army. You see, he didn't like muggles or wizards with muggle parents. He thought that only purebloods, wizards that come from a line of wizarding families, were fit to exist and were better than everyone else. So He and His army, who called themselves 'Death Eaters', would kill and torture people. Sometimes they would force other people to do what they wanted, and they wouldn't be able to stop themselves. This went on for years, and people were dying everywhere."

"He's not still alive, is he?" Harry whispered.

"No, not really," answered Sirius. "He disappeared when you were a year old. He might be dead, I don't know, but he's probably just hiding in some distant country."

"Could he come back?" Harry asked.

"No," said Sirius, deciding it wouldn't be right to absolutely terrify Harry in his first night of learning he was a wizard. "Probably not."

"Good," said Harry, relieved. "He sounds scary."

"He is," said Sirius.

There was a few minutes' silence, at which Sirius tried to bring himself to break the truth to Harry, but found he wasn't able to. He felt like he was going mad. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but no words came out.

"What?" said Harry, looking up at him in the half darkness. "Is it about Voldy-mort?"

"Er—yes," answered Sirius. Now was the perfect moment, but still the words refused to come.

Harry stared up at him with an innocent curiosity, which made it all the more painful to know before the night was over, Harry would come to know his entire life was a lie. "Is he...is he the one...that killed mom?"

Sirius was taken aback, and Harry obviously noticed, for he quickly turned away and muttered a quick "Sorry."

"It's all right," said Sirius, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "But yes... Voldemort killed her." He paused, then added softly, "When you were a year old, he killed your mother and father."

There was a moment's silence, then Harry sat up and peered at Sirius, confused. "What are you talking about? You're my dad, and you're not dead."

"Godfather," Sirius corrected softly. "If anything was to happen to your parents, I was to take care of you. Your parents knew for almost a year that Voldemort was after them. When He finally found them, he killed them and tried to kill you."

"That's a really bad joke," said Harry.

Sirius sighed and closed his eyes. "It's not a joke. I've been waiting years for when you were old enough and I could tell you."

Harry stared at him, a horror-struck look on his face. "No...you're lying."

"I'm not," Sirius said sadly. "You see, I was the only one who knew where your parents were hiding. But I told them to switch Secret Keepers—that's the only person who can tell someone where your parents were hiding—to another friend of ours, Peter Pettigrew. Only we didn't know Peter had been working for Voldemort for a year, and he told Him where your family was.

"So Voldemort came to your house on Halloween when you were only a baby. He killed your parents and tried to kill you, but He couldn't. No one knows why. What's even stranger is that He lost all of His power and nearly died. No one's seen Him since."

There was a long silence.

"I don't believe you," Harry whispered.

"You remember those nightmares? The green light?" Harry nodded slightly, looking as though it would make this lucrative tale true if he did. "Those aren't dreams. All that actually happened. The green light you keep seeing is actually the curse Voldemort used when He tried to kill you."

Figuring he may as well continue with the whole story, Sirius said, "I was the first one to find your house, almost completely gone. Your parents were dead, and you were crying in your crib. So I took you to my place, and I left to find Peter, the one who had betrayed your parents.

"I found him on a busy muggle road, and a moment later, he blew apart the entire street, killing twelve muggles and faking his death. Everyone thought it was me. That I had killed Peter and all those muggles, and told Voldemort where your family was hiding.

"I tried to bring you to Remus's house, but the Ministry followed, and almost accidentally killed you when they were trying to capture me. I had to bring you with me when I came to New York, and I've been waiting for the right time to take you back."

Sirius's voice faltered in the stunned silence, but then he said, "Your real name is Harry Potter, not Adam Thomas. I had to give us fake names so the Ministry couldn't find us. My real name's Sirius Black. Not Louis. And I'm not your real father. Just your godfather.

"That's why we're going back to England," said Sirius, his voice shaking slightly. "To take you back home."

There was a minute's silence, then Harry whispered, "You lied? You're not my dad?"

"No," said Sirius sadly, shaking his head. "I'm not."

Harry glared at Sirius for a moment, his face half illuminated, then turned away, as though ashamed.

"I hate you," he whispered.


	11. an argentinian cave

A/N: Much thanks to all who reviewed. Feedback is greatly appreciated. And I finally learned how to separate individual sections, so it should prove easier to read.

"Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air, is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies."  
-Erich Fromm

_Remus Lupin was _setting a pot of water on the stove to boil when a ball of fire appeared out of nowhere to his left, causing him to jump. The ball disappeared a moment later, but left a scarlet feather behind. A moment later, Dumbledore apparated into the small kitchen.

"Ah, tea," he said simply, spotting the kettle as he sat down at a scrubbed wooden table moved to the corner. Before waiting for anything else, Dumbledore continued, "You may have heard. The Ministry thinks they may have found Sirius Black."

Remus unstuck his throat. "I have."

"Of course, he disappeared long before the muggle police arrived to the building Black's been living in all these years. No one knows where he might have gone. He didn't leave anything behind."

"Do they know if—" Lupin began, but his voice died. Finding it again, he said a little stronger, "Do they know anything about Harry?"

Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon spectacles. "He is alive," he said reassuringly. "According to our muggle witness, he was taken care of quite well."

The surprise must have shown on Lupin's face, for Dumbledore said, "Yes, I thought that a little peculiar, too. I can't imagine why Black took Harry in the first place, let alone not only kept him alive these past few years, but took care of him properly. The only explanation I can think of is the possibility that Black may try to use Harry as a ransom if he were to be caught."

"So they have no idea where he may have gone?" Remus asked, trying not to think about Sirius using Harry as ransom.

"I'm afraid not," said Dumbledore heavily. "They don't have any leads. By the time the muggle police arrived to the building, more than enough time had passed for Black to apparate halfway around the world.

"Which brings me here," Dumbledore added. Remus looked at him. "Black has been staying in New York City all this time. Did he ever mention anything to you about that place? Before all this?"

Remus was about to reply with an immediate "no", but thought about it a moment. He tried to recall if Sirius had ever mentioned the city to him before, but nothing came to mind.

"No," he said finally, shaking his head. "I don't think he has."

Dumbledore sighed inwardly, then said, "The Ministry is trying to contact everyone who knew Black well in the past, to try and get an idea of where Black may have gone. The problem is his motives are proving to be extremely unpredictably. First he kidnaps Harry, and then he hides out in one place for four years, and New York for that matter. When his cover is finally blown, he escapes with Harry yet again."

"I know," said Remus heavily. "If I can think if anything, I'll—"

Just then the tea kettle began to whistle, and Remus filled two mugs with boiling water before adding the tea bags. Setting one in front of Dumbledore, Lupin joined him at the table.

"That is very helpful of you," said Dumbledore. "I can only imagine what kind of toll all of this has taken on you."

Remus shrugged, trying not to betray how much the entire ordeal had truly affected him.

_

* * *

Harry and Sirius were walking along a foggy coastline in a country quite far south. They had arrived in Canada two days earlier, but the police there were going mad, so Sirius decided to head to the far south instead, deciding the people there were less likely to know about the situation, or at least not make nearly as big a deal about it._

Harry was only twenty feet or so ahead, but the fog nearly obscured him completely. The sky was an overcast gray, and a white mist hung heavily in the air, salty from the roaring ocean nearby.

"Don't walk so far ahead," Sirius called to Harry for the millionth time that morning. But like every time Sirius had tried speaking to him since that night on the train, Harry defiantly ignored him. Sirius had done everything he could think of to console and explain the situation to Harry, but he deftly refused to listen. Most times he pretended not to hear Sirius at all. After awhile Sirius figured there was nothing left that he could do but to let it sink in to Harry. That would take time; but how much, Sirius didn't know.

Sirius sighed, placing his hands inside his pockets and resuming keeping a watch as they walked aimlessly ahead. Sirius couldn't quite remember how far South they had traveled, but was quite sure they weren't too far from the Argentinean border. He remembered hearing from someone that if you stood at the southernmost point of Cape Horn, you could see Antarctica.

He knew it wasn't likely he could test this theory with the current weather.

Sirius didn't have an exact plan for bringing Harry back to England. He knew that the chaos that erupted when he had tried to leave New York had attracted the Ministry's attention almost immediately. The best option would be to take the most remote, unexpected routes possible. Though it was an enormous circle around a good portion of the globe, it was perhaps the safest way.

As he walked, Sirius's thoughts turned once again to Remus. He had no idea what he was going to do about that particular facet of his initial plan. He hadn't decided whether to warn Remus in advance, but didn't know what Remus's actions would be. Would he agree? That seemed unlikely. He would probably notify the Ministry immediately, and before Sirius could even reach England, he would likely be killed.

That left showing up randomly, assuming everything else went smoothly.

"Wait a moment, Harry," Sirius called as the sand began to be replaced by rugged cliffs and jutting islands of rock with the occasional gap that led to a tight cave. He had referred to Harry as "Adam" for four years, and it felt quite strange to call him by his proper name once more.

Harry slowed down and half-turned his ear for a moment, but then turned his gaze forward once more and continued walking.

Sighing, Sirius followed.

Harry stopped when he reached the foot of the cliff-face and folded his arms as Sirius arrived a moment later. While Sirius scanned the rock for a possible path, Harry stared determinedly at the gray ocean, where a foghorn blew in the distance. Sirius turned away from the cliff-face to look out at the ocean, a slight crease between his eyes as a sudden thought occurred to him.

The sound seemed awfully close to shore, which could only imply one thing: they were close to civilization.

"Stay here," he told Harry before carefully climbing the rock's face to see over to the other side. Harry, though obeying, appeared to ignore the fact that Sirius said anything. Sirius stared at him for a moment, sighing inwardly, before continuing on.

Sirius managed to pull himself just enough to look over the edge of the damp rock, and through the fog, he could see the murky outline of what must have been Ushuaia. He studied it for a moment, thinking deeply, before climbing back down.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do in order to get on the other side of the globe. He had never apparated that far, and didn't want to risk it now, especially with Harry. So unless he could find some other magical means without being traced, that left muggle transportation. Airlines were obviously out of the question, and a ship would take too long. But what other options did he have?

"Come on," said Sirius to Harry, holding out his hand. Harry glared at it for a moment as though taking it was the last thing on his mind. Once he realized what Sirius meant to do, Harry reluctantly held out his own for Sirius to take.

Apparating on the other side of the series of cliffs, just ten feet from the side of the road, Sirius made sure that no one was around to witness their sudden arrival. Satisfied the way was deserted, Sirius led Harry down the cracked highway toward the outskirts of the city.

The outer buildings were mostly warehouses and shipyards with the occasional rickety apartment complex and market. A little further in, the buildings became more populous and closer together. Old cars were trudging down the roadways lined with people taking care of their daily tasks. At each building they passed, Sirius carefully studied for any sign of possible transatlantic transportation, or at least English.

Just as Sirius tore his eyes away from an open fish market, a man called him back suddenly.

"¿Adónde van?" he asked, emerging from the open garage-like door.

Sirius paused. His knowledge of languages other than English didn't spread any farther than French and the Pig Latin James had taught him several years before.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I don't speak—"

"Where are you going?" the man repeated in English, his accent audible.

Again, Sirius hesitated before answering. "I just need to get across the Atlantic. Which country doesn't matter so much."

The man considered him for a moment. "Why not take an airplane?" he asked.

Sirius shrugged. "Too expensive," he lied.

The man nodded slowly, chewing on something. Sirius didn't think it was gum.

The man beckoned to Sirius to follow, and said, "Come here a moment."

Sirius didn't move.

The man turned around, realizing Sirius hadn't followed, and said, laughing slightly, "I'm heading out for South Georgia early tomorrow morning. That's not the whole distance, but I'm sure you can trade off with another fisherman to South Africa, yes?"

The man waited for a response as Sirius considered it. He had never heard of South Georgia before, let alone had any clear idea where it might be. But this man was offering to take him there, and it wasn't like Sirius had any other option to consider.

All he had to worry about was whether or not this man was sincere.

"It won't cost you much," he said, shrugging. "One-fifty _pesos_. Half now, half when you get there."

Sirius had no idea how much a peso was worth, and knew he couldn't exactly stroll into the local bank and attempt to exchange his wizard gold for Argentinian money. The man seemed to mistake his hesitation as he studied them, taking in their dirty clothes and worn appearance.

"No money, eh?" he said. Shrugging, he turned back into his market.

Sirius sighed; Harry fidgeted next to him. Sirius considered calling the man back and asking if there was any other way he'd be able to pay him when he thought better of it. For all he knew South Georgia was a remote island in the middle of nowhere, and the man merely intended to dump them off without a care.

Sirius continued on, Harry right behind him. Even over the noise of the distant sea in the distance and the passersby, Sirius thought he heard Harry's stomach growl.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, looking down at him.

Harry simply shrugged, which was as close to a "yes" as Sirius had been able to get out of him since they were on the train. He led him through an alleyway, where he descended some steps and paused out of sight. Pulling out the severely-shrunken suitcase from his coat pocket, Sirius returned it to its normal size and began rummaging through its contents, looking for anything he might be able to exchange for food. He doubted whether the locals would take the American bills he had stored safely away.

It was then Sirius discovered the small cardboard box of their old furniture. He pulled it out and rummaged through the marble-sized contents until he found the old television set. Setting it aside, Sirius shrunk everything once more and placed the tiny suitcase back inside his pocket. Holding on to the miniature television, Sirius and Harry returned to the main road and began searching for a pawn shop.

They passed by several open markets, whose smells wafted around torturously, and Sirius could see Harry eyeing them out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Sirius paused outside a small shop selling electronic appliances. It wasn't a pawn shop, but perhaps they would give Sirius something in exchange.

An hour later, Sirius and Harry were sitting on a pier near the shipping yard with their newfound stock of food. While Sirius had purchased something fresh for them to eat for now, he spent the rest of the money on non-perishable food from a small grocery store. He didn't know how difficult it would be to find food, and wanted to make sure he had extra while the opportunity presented itself.

They ate in complete silence, Harry concentrating more than usual on his meal. Sirius, however, was busy examining what appeared to be a barge ship only fifty feet away. After a few minutes of studying intently, Sirius learned that the ship was being stocked for South Africa and was due to leave in a week's time.

He then began contemplating the best way to sneak on the ship.

Harry, finished with his meal, began looking around for a place to throw away his wax paper. Without taking his eyes off the ship in front of them, Sirius took the paper from Harry and unconsciously stuffed it in his pocket.

Sirius decided their best option would be to apparate on deck in the middle of the night, provided the barge wouldn't have any occupants at the time, and sneak into a safe hiding place for the journey. Sirius thought about where that hiding place might be, and decided to worry about that later.

Sirius stood up, and decided to find a place to stay the next couple of days, preferably somewhere out of sight. Sirius remembered the caves they had passed earlier that day, and decided that would be the best option. The sky had been growing steadily darker all day, more so from what appeared to be an approaching storm than the oncoming night.

As Sirius led Harry to yet another random alley out of sight to disapparate, he couldn't help but stare at the deepening gray overhead; the weather was giving him an ominous feeling.

_

* * *

Remus sat at his kitchen table, reading through an article in the __Daily Prophet_. Apparently Fudge had decided against the public witch hunt for Sirius Black, and was adhering to the original plan. According to the article, he thought the idea put the general public in far too much danger than it was worth. In Remus's opinion, however, that sounded a bit like Dumbledore's wisdom.his kitchen table, reading through an article in the . Apparently Fudge had decided against the public witch hunt for Sirius Black, and was adhering to the original plan. According to the article, he thought the idea put the general public in far too much danger than it was worth. In Remus's opinion, however, that sounded a bit like Dumbledore's wisdom. 

Sighing, Remus set down the paper and glanced over at the clock in the corner of the cramped kitchen. It was already two in the morning.

He could not believe just two days ago word of Sirius Black's narrow escape from the muggle authorities in New York had happened. It seemed like a nightmare from a lifetime ago. As Remus's gaze returned to the article on the cover of the paper, he couldn't decide whether or not he wished this was all some mad dream.

He stood up, meaning to go to bed, but couldn't tear his eyes away from the large photo on the cover. Though it was an old snapshot of him, Remus stared into the black and white face of his old friend. He frowned as he tried to look for a sign in his face that might hint at what he would eventually do, but nothing could be seen.

How long had he been plotting against them? The Order had known of a spy for nearly a year before James and Lily died, but was it possible Sirius had turned against them long before that? And if so, when?

Remus sighed, and chucked the paper into the dying embers of his fireplace. He watched as the newsprint suddenly ignited and disappeared into smoldering ash. Though the picture was no more, Remus couldn't get the image of Sirius staring up at him out of his head.

_

* * *

Sirius was smoothing out a large blanket on the sandy cave floor, holding his lit wand with his teeth as he worked. Harry sat in the corner, watching, as silent as he had been in days._

Picking up an old gas lamp he had found discarded on the beach earlier that morning, Sirius hastily lit it and placed it on the rock jutting from the wall of the cave.

Sirius turned his wand back to the blanket and placed a charm on it to keep it from absorbing the water from the damp ground. Satisfied, he set down the sack of provisions in the corner. Suddenly remembering to boil some water, Sirius pulled out a small pot from the mess that was inside the shrunken shoe box, which was in turn kept inside the miniature suitcase.

As he stood up best he could in the five-foot space, Harry laid down in the furthest corner of the small cave. Sirius paused, then slipped off his coat and gently placed it on top of Harry. For a moment he wondered if he would simply rip it off and curl back up, but was strangely relieved to see that Harry remained stock still.

Sirius crouched down and carefully made his way around the tight corner and through the jagged entrance that led to the outside world. Climbing carefully through the upwards-slanting opening, Sirius emerged in the cold night air. Darkness had fallen remarkably fast, and it was almost pitch black outside as the moon was currently obscured by the storm clouds overhead.

Sirius collected a pot full of sea water and headed back towards the cave, out of the wind, where he proceeded to light a fire with his wand. Placing several fair-sized rocks around it, Sirius set the pot down and sat down, waiting.

After several long minutes the water began to bubble slightly, but Sirius didn't notice. He stared out over the black waves, wondering how much longer this was going to go on. He knew Harry was angry with him and needed time. But he also knew he should be doing everything in his power to comfort him, especially with Harry being as young as he was.

Sirius turned away from the ocean suddenly, examining the shoreline carefully in the near blind darkness. He thought he had heard something quite distinct from the crashing of the waves. Finding nothing, Sirius turned back to the ocean, pretending to think nothing of it when really he was listening as carefully as he could.

After several long minutes of silence, Sirius was beginning to assume it was probably nothing important. Just then a fog horn rang out in the cold night air and Sirius jumped. Sighing, he turned back to his water to examine its progress. Before he could do so much as remove the pot from the fire, Sirius felt something heavy collide with the back of his head and everything blacked out.

_

* * *

Sirius awoke slowly, feeling a dull throb just below his right ear. Rolling over stiffly, Sirius opened his eyes and realized rain was falling in a torrential downpour. For a moment he simply laid where he was, trying to remember why he was lying on the ground in the rain. Slowly his mind began to piece together Argentina, the barge, and the cave._

Sirius paused for a moment, closing his eyes. The pain in his head seemed to increase as he steadily gained consciousness.

Boiling water was the last thing Sirius could remember, although it took him a moment to figure out why, of all things, it was boiling water. Suddenly Sirius staggered to his feet as he looked around the beach. The pot of water had been thrown aside carelessly, and there was no sign of anyone.

Sirius hurried to the entrance of the cave, rushing through the winding path so quickly he could feel the rock tearing through his clothes. Ignoring it, Sirius reached the cramped ending, and saw it was pitch black.

"Harry?" he called out hoarsely, feeling around in the darkness. But there was nothing there, not even the blanket he had laid out hours before.

Panic welled inside Sirius such as he had never known as he hurried back outside and searched the area wildly. He could see spots hindering his vision, but he tried to ignore it. The last thing he needed now was to black out again.

Sirius climbed the cliff face to search the other side, but saw it was just as deserted. He lost his grip suddenly on the wet rock and fell backwards, landing hard on the wet sand.

"Harry?" Sirius yelled, getting back to his feet and staggering slightly. "Harry!"

There was no answer.

Sirius combed the beach once more, but there was no sign of anyone. He searched his pockets, hoping to find his wand so he could at least see properly, but saw that too was missing.

"Harry!" he yelled, turning on the spot.

A flash of lightning erupted overhead suddenly, momentarily illuminating the beach. Sirius quickly scanned all around him, and saw nothing but rain, rock, and sand.

Harry was gone.


	12. ushuaia

A/N: As always, much appreciation for the reviews. Now that classes are out, I should have much more time to write.

"Conflict builds character. Crisis defines it."

-Steven V. Thulon

_Running his hands _over his face and through his wet hair, Sirius tried to think clearly. Harry was gone, and without his wand, finding him would be next to impossible.

But who had taken him?

Sirius's first instinct was that the Ministry had finally caught up to him and taken Harry, but that didn't make sense. They would have hauled him off to Azkaban, not leave him unconscious on the beach. Whoever it was must obviously know about the wizarding world, otherwise they wouldn't have taken his wand.

But why take Harry and leave him there?

Horror filled Sirius as he thought of the Death Eaters. Voldemort was gone, yes, but was there still the possibility that they wanted Harry? If not out of usefulness, but revenge?

That didn't make sense, either. The Death Eaters would have simply murdered Sirius on the spot before proceeding to Harry.

Sirius let out a frustrated yell.

He had no idea how long he had been out, and every second that passed was torture. It might be another second closer to Harry's death, unless he was already...

_Don't think about that, _Sirius told himself firmly, trying to fight the churning feeling in his stomach.

Unable to deduce who may have taken Harry, Sirius' panic multiplied exponentially. He had no idea where to start looking, or what to do. The obvious option would be to ask for help.

But who on earth would willingly help a convicted murderer find a missing boy, kidnaped years before by the murderer himself?

Unable to come up with a better plan, Sirius combed the beach, praying for a trace of footprints that might show him the general direction Harry and his captor had gone, relying on the occasional flashes of lightning overhead. But the relentless rain had turned the beach to a thick, soup-like texture, erasing all traces of prints.

Frustrated, Sirius grabbed a nearby branch and beat the surrounding rock until it snapped. Throwing it as hard as he could toward the roaring sea, Sirius yelled out once more.

Returning to the entrance to the cave, Sirius collapsed on the wet rock, his head in his hands. If he wanted to save Harry, he would have to relax as much as possible. He had no hope of finding Harry if he couldn't think clearly.

The fact that only Harry was taken ruled out almost everyone Sirius could think of. Yet it had to be someone who knew about magic, otherwise why on earth was his wand missing?

Sirius rummaged through his pockets once more, just to be sure he hadn't overlooked it. There was nothing there.

Sirius sighed, and then something caught his attention. Along with his wand, everything in his pockets was gone, including the Argentinian money.

Sirius frowned. So he was robbed as well? That didn't make much sense; why take Harry?

Nothing fit; nothing made sense. All Sirius knew was that without his wand, stranded completely alone in Argentina, he couldn't find Harry himself without a miracle.

But who in their right mind would help him?

Sirius sighed. For a split second he thought of Remus, and almost laughed to himself at the thought. Going by what the world believed of him, Sirius wouldn't be surprised if when he showed up on Remus's doorstep, he murdered him on the spot.

_Besides, _Sirius told himself dully. _It's not like you could get to England anyway._

That left him alone.

_Come on, you fool. You're killing Harry with every wasted minute._

Sirius froze, a sudden thought occurring to him. It was a wild leap, and it would more than likely backfire. Wandless magic in general was difficult, but something of this unimaginable scope? It was madness.

Yet there was no other option.

Sirius stood up, and took a deep breath. He hadn't transformed in years. Yet he had had his wand every time before. He had never attempted to transform through wandless magic before, and had no idea how badly it would go.

_Don't think about that._

Sirius clenched and unclenched his fists, taking another deep breath of the cold, salty air. He concentrated as hard as he could, frowning, eyes shut to block out all other distractions. He tried to forget Remus and England, forget the disaster involving Emily in New York, and the fact that he had never been as frightened as he was now.

Several minutes passed to no effect. Sirius ran his hands over his face, trying extremely hard not to start screaming. He hadn't necessarily expected it to work, but he had hoped, considering it was his only option.

Sirius allowed himself to collapse again on the wet rock, thinking hard. He had to find a way to get a wand. It was his only hope for finding Harry. But how would he get one?

Deciding the finer details could be dealt with later, Sirius hurried through the brush in the direction of the nearby road. Soaking wet, scared, and rather frustrated, Sirius hurried along the road into the distant city, ignoring all possibilities that he would be recognized.

_

* * *

Remus was in the attic, clearing away several boxes of old possessions, making care to avoid the boxes he knew contained particular relics from his days at Hogwarts. They sat stacked in the corner by the glass door, taunting him and offering smug looks. Remus tried to keep his back to it as often as possible._

The attic had accumulated a variety of items over the seven years that Remus lived in the house. The tiny, almost circular attic was crammed with broken antique furniture, boxes, an old school trunk, and an aged rickety bedframe stuffed in the corner, on which the banished boxes sat.

The floor creaked and emitted several layers of ancient dust as Remus moved around. He considered opening the door, but that would mean moving past the boxes better left ignored.

Yet he could do anything but ignore them.

For days Remus tried to keep his mind occupied, and found it increasingly difficult; Sirius's name was in the papers every morning, and he was all that was discussed in Diagon Alley. Even the muggles had gotten word, however diluted, of the fiasco in New York City. He tried to distract himself by scrubbing the entirety of his house; all that remained was the attic, and it was almost finished.

Remus glanced at the pile of old Hogwarts boxes near the glass door, and debated whether he should get over himself and sort through the mess, or continue to ignore it.

Before he could make a decision, however, the downstairs doorbell rang.

Remus straightened up, frowning. Who on earth would come ringing? He lived a fair distance from the nearest hamlet, and the only people he corresponded with were all wizards.

Remus opened the rickety attic door and headed down the steps to the tiny entry, where he glanced out the window before opening the door. A wizard in velvet robes of a deep scarlet and a long silver beard stood on the threshold.

"Ah, I hope you don't mind me stopping by unannounced," said Dumbledore, stepping inside.

"Not at all," said Remus, taken aback slightly. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," said Dumbledore graciously, nodding his thanks. He made himself comfortable on a sunken couch in the adjacent living room as Remus headed for the kitchen. He returned a moment later, and sat down in an ancient armchair across from Dumbledore.

"Your sitting room is quite decadently clean," Dumbledore noted. "I was never able to discipline myself enough to keep my rooms clean, myself."

Remus half-smiled humorlessly. He had the impression Dumbledore had different matters on his mind that he was meaning to discuss.

"Well, you are undoubtedly curious about my sudden visit," he continued, as if reading Remus's thoughts. "I just thought you should know—forgive me—from a source other than local gossip and news clippings."

Remus waited.

"They have lost all trace of Sirius Black," he said, the usual twinkle in his blue eyes distinctly absent.

"And Harry?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "The same. Their evidence, however, points more towards the possibility that Harry is alive than otherwise. It seems Black took Harry for a reason, indeed, and plans on using him to protect himself."

Remus stared determinedly at a small burn on the coffee table between them.

"You have no recollection of an incident explaining his behavior?" Dumbledore asked, frowning slightly.

Remus looked up at him.

"Forgive me," Dumbledore continued. "but I must ask."

Remus shook his head slowly. "No. This came as much of a shock to me as anyone else. If he was planning anything, he never gave anything away."

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"Should the Ministry find him," Dumbledore continued delicately. "do you wish to see him? Perhaps find out why he acted as he has?"

Mercifully, the teapot screamed in the background before Remus could answer.

"Excuse me," he said, heading to the kitchen to silence the kettle. He added two tea bags to a set of mismatched mugs, and as he poured the boiling water, Remus wondered to himself what he would do if the Ministry ever caught Sirius Black. Would he want to see him? Would he want to hear explanations and excuses for why he betrayed them all? Did he even want to know why he had to add insult to injury by taking Harry with him?

Remus sighed, and carried the steaming mugs back to the living room.

* * *

"_We just need _to make sure we have a positive identification, all right?" the detective said soothingly. Emily gave a half-shrug and nodded.

"Handsome face...about six-one, six-two I guess... Um, black hair... He wore glasses a lot of the time, but I don't think they were real..."

"How come?"

Emily shrugged. "I don't know, just..."

"What age would you place him around?"

"Mid-twenties, I suppose," she said, frowning.

As the detective added this detail to his notepad, Emily looked around the office. It was once an early twentieth-century firehouse, and would have still appeared so if it weren't for the desks, filing cabinets, and holding cells at the other end. Emily fidgeted slightly on the wooden bench as the detective's gaze returned to her.

"Any facial hair?"

Emily shook her head.

The detective made another note and pulled a large photograph out of a folder. He held it out for Emily to see, and said, "Is this him?"

Emily stared into the familiar face. "Yes," she muttered, closing her eyes. "'Serious' Black, that's him."

The detective paused. "You know his name?"

"Yes."

Another pause. "You're very certain this is him?"

Emily opened her eyes, realizing what the detective was doubting. "He admitted what his real name was, before he disappeared. I would know his face anywhere."

The detective nodded, slipping the photograph back inside the folder. He pulled out a small business card from his desk drawer and handed it to Emily. "We'll give you a call if we need anything more. And if you can think of anything else..."

Emily took the card and stood up.

"Paul, the Captain wants to see you in his office," a woman said, pausing by his desk.

"Okay," he said after a pause. He turned to Emily and said, "Try and get some rest, all right?"

Emily nodded before leaving the building, still clutching the card in her hand.

Paul followed the woman toward the end of the cavernous room, weaving between desks and filing cabinets, until they reached an iron-made spiral staircase that led to what was once a loft. Entering the office, the two detectives saw a peculiarly-dressed man talking with the Captain.

Noticing the new arrival, the Captain broke off and said, turning to the detectives, "This is Cornelius Fudge, a Minister from England. Mr. Fudge, this is Paul McCourt and Audrey Donoghue."

Cornelius Fudge smiled gravely and nodded in their direction. Paul couldn't help but find his assortment of clothing a little unusual: a pinstriped suit, purple boots, and a lime green bowler derby.

"He's come to confirm our suspect is indeed Sirius Black, the English mass murderer who disappeared four years ago."

Paul and Audrey turned to Fudge.

"He has been missing for years, and until this week, we didn't have a single lead on his whereabouts," said Fudge. His English accent stood out vividly against the American idiom the others were used to. "It's a miracle he didn't kill anyone."

"By the looks of it, he wanted to attract as little attention as possible," said the Captain. "According to our witnesses, Black's been living in a second-floor flat in a remote corner of Greenwich Village almost the entire time. Worked at a motorcycle-repair shop. No one ever suspected him."

"Ah, well, Black is a talented actor," said Fudge, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "I am, however, amazed at his behavior. Most murderers don't flee to one of the biggest cities in the world, mind you."

"Is this going to be a joint case, then?" Audrey asked, looking from the Captain to Fudge.

"Actually, we're turning the case over to them," said the Captain. Audrey and Paul turned to stare at him.

"Turn it over?"

"Black's record goes a little bit beyond murder," said the Captain slowly. "Apart from thirteen direct counts, Black's convicted as an accomplice to two more, and... a possible terrorist suspect," he continued carefully, watching Fudge as he spoke. "British Parliament has reason to believe his record extends on even more."

"All right," said Paul, clearly displeased. "What would you like us to do with our records and all the witnesses?"

"We will need copies of everything," said Fudge, a slightly apologetic tone in his voice. "If we could also get copies of the witnesses' statements, then that will be enough."

"I'll go prepare them for you," said Paul, a slight note of bitterness in his voice as he left the office. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Audrey following him.

"He's their man, Paul," she said.

"Yes, but he wasn't in England when this happened, was he? A joint case is fine, but turning it over completely?" He shook his head. "Every time an American screws up over there, we should simply take over."

"Paul, that's not the point," she said. "I don't like it either, but you can't act surprised, what with the record Black has. A terrorist? Of course British government is going to get involved. Besides," she added. "they've been after this guy for years."

Paul didn't respond as he picked up his folder from his desk and headed for the copy machine.

_

* * *

Fudge turned to the Captain once the two detectives left. "I'm also going to have to speak with this Sean. The Ministry will need to know how he knew it was Black."_

"We've already asked him," said the Captain. "He claimed he didn't until Black gave himself away."

"Yes," said Fudge slowly, chewing his lower lip. "But we need to know how he came to suspect it was Black, and how he managed to get him to slip up."

The Captain looked uneasy. "His lawyer will insist on being present through any interrogation. And you know the reaction he'll get when you start asking his client about murderous wizards at large—"

"So don't inform the lawyer," said Fudge simply.

The Captain hesitated. "It's not as simple as that. Our laws are different that yours—"

Fudge sighed. "I can see where you're coming from, but I must impress upon you how very serious it is that we get every bit of information we can. For all we know, this man could be the very thing that helps us capture Black once and for all. Have you asked the man if he has magical blood?"

The Captain's eyebrows raised. "And give that lawyer of his an excuse to transfer the case to a different department? No chance there."

"Has your own wizarding Ministry been notified?"

"I have no idea how I'm supposed to get into contact with them," the Captain said. "Usually it's the other way around, and that hasn't happened in years. The last time they stopped by was to tell us Black was on the loose and to keep a lookout. That's how I knew to contact you."

"I'm still going to have to speak with him," said Fudge impassively. "I'll speak with the American Minister first, of course. We'll simply have to modify the man's memory, and keep anyone else from knowing if need be."

The Captain didn't look too pleased, but he didn't say anything.

_

* * *

For what seemed like a lifetime, Sirius ran down the road in the storm to Ushuaia. He paid no attention to the fact he stood out, should anyone be on the streets to take notice. The entire journey there was spent thinking of how he was supposed to get hold of a wand._

He still hadn't come up with a plan.

The obvious choice was to locate a wizarding shop and try to go from there. Yet how likely was it that there would be one in Ushuaia, let alone one that supplied wands?

That left breaking into a wizarding house. Yet, again, it was almost impossible to tell wizarding houses from muggle houses from the outside when they were in the exact same neighborhood. Even if by some bizarre miracle Sirius managed to locate one, how likely was it that he would be able to break in, locate and steal a wand, and then sneak back out, completely undetected?

Sirius scoured the city well into the morning. By then the worst of the storm had let up, but rain still fell from the dark, cloudy sky. Sirius was on the verge of losing what little patience he had left.

Certain that he had searched the entire city at least twice, Sirius headed to the shipyard, hoping against all expectation that he would find something there.

Yet there weren't any wizarding shops. Instead, there was a group of men unloading a fishing boat and their conversation caught Sirius's attention.

"...kid wandering around. Middle of this, no less!" the nearest fisherman said in English, carrying a large net toward a shed on the dock. Sirius paused, listening intently.

"Must be lost," said a second, a rather stout man with a large mustache. "Probably snuck over from Cuba."

"Orphan," said the last knowingly, looping a large length of thick rope around the pier. "See 'em all the time."

"Didn't look like no orphan," said the first, returning to the boat.

"How so?"

"He was a white kid. You don't see those orphans anywhere near here, I tell you that."

The third man shrugged. "Runaway."

"Nah," the man countered. "Too young. Can't have been older than six or so."

The rest of the conversation was continued in Spanish, but Sirius had heard enough to know that the boy the men were talking about must have been Harry. Yet they described him as being alone. How was that possible? Had he escaped, possibly?

Without pausing to think, Sirius emerged from his hiding place, and walked up to the nearest man. He turned, startled, and gave Sirius a suspicious look. It wasn't every day a white man, soaking wet and shivering, appeared on a private fishing dock at five in the morning.

"My nephew's gone missing," Sirius said. He hadn't realized how cold he was until he tried speaking. The words came out forced and unnaturally crisp.

There was no immediate answer as the men considered him.

"Your nephew?" the first man said, eyebrows raised, holding a half-folded net on the boat.

"Yes," said Sirius, turning to him. "He's gone. We don't know if he ran away, or if something happened—"

"Who is 'we'?" he asked. Sirius could tell he was suspicious.

"My sister," he lied. "We've been looking for him for hours."

"What does this boy look like?"

Sirius sighed inwardly. "He's five. Short, messy black hair. Green eyes. About this tall, and rather skinny."

The man seemed to consider him a moment while the others silently carried on with their work.

"Near one of the larger docks," he said. "By the barge ships, about two hours ago. Hard to say what he was doing."

Sirius felt so relieved that for a moment he thought he might faint. Managing to hang on to his senses, Sirius blurted a rushed "Thank you" before taking off toward the other side of the docks, where the barge ships waited in the rough, black water.

Arriving there, breathless, Sirius looked around, squinting in the dark. The only source of light was the large floodlights near a particularly large ship still being loaded a few docks away. The man hadn't been specific about which dock, so Sirius searched through them all, calling Harry's name.

The man had described Harry as though he had come here of his own free will. That made very little sense, considering the only explanation for Harry's absence in the first place was him being taken away. Did he escape, and if so, how? And why was he here, of all places?

The man had said he saw Harry two hours ago, and that left all possibility that Harry wouldn't be here. Sirius tried not to think on this possibility as he searched the dark and deserted docks.

Sirius reached the last one, and paused. The downpour had turned into a light rain, and the wind had disappeared.

As had all sign of Harry.


	13. the alley

A/N: This chapter is slightly shorter than the others; it's amazing how difficult it is to pace things carefully enough so they don't seemed rush, without any real material to draw out in the first place. Some more things concerning Sean are explained, but for the most part, this is a filler chapter. Enjoy.

"A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool."

-William Shakespeare

"_How did you _know it was him?" Fudge asked, one ankle resting on the opposite knee.

"I didn't," answered Sean in a flat voice. He simply stared at a pipe in the corner of the small interrogation room as he spoke under the influence of Veritaserum. "At first I wanted to scare him."

"Why is that?"

"He was taking Emily away from me."

Fudge paused, trying not to be distracted at the thought of Sirius Black with a love life. "What happened then?"

"I had an old friend pull up his records to see if there was anything I could use to my advantage."

"Was there?"

"No," Sean said dully. "There weren't any records going further back than four years or so. They claimed he was a native of South Africa, but when I checked their database, there was nothing. He didn't exist there; there wasn't even a birth certificate."

"What did you do then?"

"It was then I realized this man was one of _them_."

"A wizard?" Fudge asked. Sean nodded. "How do you know of them?"

"My grandmother was a muggle-born, the only one in our family. I knew of the existence of wizards, but not much further than that. I phoned an old friend of hers, and asked how I might pull up records on a wizard. She offered to do it for me, but needed a name.

"When I gave her the name 'Louis Thomas', she got back to me the following week with nothing. Said the man didn't exist.

"It was then I became suspicious of him."

"Then what? How did you find out he was Sirius Black?"

"A mere accident," answered Sean. "A coincidence, rather. I came across a news article in the _Times_ about a mass murderer on the run with a young boy. As I read further in, I gathered as much information as I could on this Sirius Black. My grandmother's friend sent me a few old newspaper photographs of him.

"Interestingly enough, he looked exactly like Louis Thomas, the very man Emily had been pining for behind my back for years."

Fudge nodded. "So you assumed they were one and the same?"

"Not exactly," answered Sean in the same monotonous voice. "I suspected it. I waited a few weeks, just to be sure. Finally I decided on an anonymous phone call, deciding to be sure for certain. In fact, if Black had never imagined he was truly being followed and tried to run, I wouldn't have ever known for sure. It was his behavior that assured me. A sloppy mistake on his part."

"So you started following him?"

"Oh yes," answered Sean. "I wanted to keep an eye on him. I scared him, many times, to keep him on his toes and away from Emily."

"Why didn't you alert your police? Or the Ministry?" Fudge asked, frowning.

"I didn't care enough about the man," answered Sean. "Actually, after getting to know him, he didn't act like your average mass murderer."

"How so?" asked Fudge sharply.

"He seemed to think 'the Stalker' had an intention to harm the boy. He took unusual care to keep him safe."

Fudge paused, staring at him. This interview was getting stranger with every word. "So this was more to keep Black away from the Emily woman?"

"At first," answered Sean. "But when I returned from a business trip from South America, I caught the two of them—"

For a split second, Fudge considered interrupting Sean.

"—getting all cozy in her flat. Oh, nothing serious happened between them. But it was enough."

"So you decided to kill the two of them."

"Yes," answered Sean. "I had every intention to kill Black myself if he didn't back off within the week and mess up again, getting himself caught. But Emily betrayed me. She fell in love with a murderer. That wasn't right—"

Suddenly the door opened, and the Captain walked inside. Fudge and Sean both turned to look at him.

"You realize what's going on?" The Captain practically shouted.

"Other than this?" Fudge asked, eyebrow quirked.

"He just admitted to attempted murder!" said the Captain, nodding at Sean.

"Yes, he did," said Fudge. "Is this a problem?"

"His statements claims he was trying to protect the woman from Black!" said the Captain. "And due to her current mental state and her inability to remember clearly, that's the way his case is going!"

"I don't understand," said Fudge, frowning. "Is this bad?"

"Of course it's bad!" said the Captain. "We've just gotten proof he tried to kill the woman, and we can't use it!"

"Why ever not?"

The Captain stared hard at him. "And tell the Jury we interviewed him illegally when he admitted to what he was doing? The Judge would never accept it, and may even pardon him! We'd lose the case!"

"So don't tell your judge about the interview."

"How else are we going to explain this?"

"His memory will be modified at the end of the interview," said Fudge calmly. "Interview him again, and pretend he already confessed."

The Captain stared at him. "You're impossible."

"I should like to finish this interview," said Fudge. "So I'm afraid we will have to continue this argument at a later time. My apologies; celerity is of the utmost importance."

The Captain looked as though he was going to say something, but sighed loudly and left the interrogation room.

"Now," said Fudge, turning back to Sean. "Where were we?"

* * *

"_You aren't really _going after him, are you?" a woman asked, still in her nightgown with a shawl pulled tightly about her shoulders. Her frown was half-illuminated in the dim candlelight.

"The Ministry ain't doing nothing about it," her husband replied, cleaning an assortment of knives lying on a towel on the kitchen table.

"He's a mass murderer, Frank," she tried to reason. "He'll kill you in a heartbeat. If he can slaughter thirteen people with one curse..." She shook her head. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"I won't be alone."

"There's more of you going?" she asked incredulously.

"'Course," Frank replied. "And the Maguire bloke is coming as well."

"Maguire?"

"Ex-auror," supplied Frank. "Retired just after You-Know-Who disappeared. Says he's more'n willing to help us track down Black."

"And what, exactly, do you plan to do if you find him?" she asked.

Frank simply glanced at her as he wiped a blade clean, and didn't answer.

"He's got the Potter boy with him," she said exasperatedly. "You can't just kill him like that—"

"Who says Potter is even alive?" Frank said, eyebrows raised. "If you ask me, Black dumped him off in the middle of the Atlantic as soon as he had a chance."

"Then why even bother taking the boy?"

"To finish his master's work, of course," said Frank. "Crazy lunatic."

The woman rolled her eyes. "You don't even know where to begin looking."

"He was in the States last anyone heard."

"Yes, a few days ago," the woman said slowly, trying to keep her voice calm and reasonable. "He's probably in China right now for all anyone knows. Besides," she added. "You're not even allowed to go on a wild hunt for Black. The Ministry forbade it."

"Good for them," said Frank simply.

"Are you just begging to die?" the woman practically shouted. "You're not a murderer, but Black is! He won't hesitate a second to blow you to pieces!"

"Which is why someone actually has to do something about it," said the man firmly. "Who knows how many people Black would kill otherwise?"

"You're impossible," sighed the woman bitterly. "Black will simply blow you all to smithereens and be done with it. You won't achieve anything."

Frank didn't answer as he polished the last knife.

"This isn't some hunting sport," she continued angrily. "Black's a madman! Besides, he has the Potter boy with him. You heard the news. He's going to use the boy like a shield to protect himself!"

Still, there was no answer.

"Fine," she snapped angrily. "If you want to get yourself killed chasing Black, that's your business. But if by some miracle you crawl back here alive, I'm not going to be your personal nurse."

The man simply gave a half-grunt and shrugged. His sister rolled her eyes and left the kitchen.

_

* * *

Sirius stood in the drizzle for several long moments, staring blankly ahead, mind numb._

He had truly lost Harry.

He couldn't believe it. For hours now he had been hoping against all likeliness that he had a chance of finding him, and not even an hour ago his hopes soared at the man's news of Harry. Now there was nothing.

He had no hope of finding him now without a wand or the help of someone else. Sirius considered going straight to England himself and getting Remus, but he had no way of getting there with magic; muggle transportation would take far too long.

But what choice did he have?

He imagined what would happen if he tried knocking on Remus' door during afternoon tea with a story of kidnappers in Argentina while society itself presumed Sirius to not only be a kidnapper on his part, but a Death Eater and mass murderer to boot.

Would Remus hear him out, or curse him into oblivion the moment he set eyes on him? Remus had always been a sensible person, but in his mind, Sirius was a traitor and murdered all of his friends. He ruined his life. Sirius wouldn't be surprised if Remus did murder him on the spot.

But there was no other way.

Sirius weighed the only two options he had. If he stayed in Ushuaia, he could rely on the freak chance he might find Harry. But he also risked losing him forever, seeing as how he had no leads and no way of tracking him down. If he went back to England for help, he then risked the chance of abandoning Harry to whatever his captors had in mind. He had heard of human trafficking. If Harry had managed to escape, then he would be completely alone. But if he sought help from Remus, and if by the unlikely chance he agreed, his chances of tracking Harry were far better.

It was mostly a matter of time. Sirius silently cursed the fact that it was slipping by much too quickly.

He needed to chose. The first option was his first inclination, but that didn't make much sense, the more he dwelled on it. He had no chance; he would simply be relying on luck and coincidence. The second option had far worse odds, but it was the only plan that involved doing something.

But how on earth would he get into London? He only had the burden of himself this time, and could risk far more on his part, but it was mere days since he fled from New York. The world was in uproar, trying to hunt him down before he disappeared completely again. Getting into England would be extremely difficult, more so now than ever.

It wasn't like he had a choice. So how to get there?

An airplane was Sirius's first thought, but he rejected it immediately. That was suicide; it would be impossible to smuggle himself on to a plane bound for London. He might pass over security while in South America, but the moment he reached England... No, planes definitely wouldn't work. That left a boat, but Sirius knew they took ages to reach anywhere transatlantic. Days; even weeks depending on what kind of boat he snuck on.

He wasn't getting anywhere this way. He had wasted enough time as it was.

Passage over the Atlantic would take far too long. That left the sky. He knew he was risking far more than his life this way, but he didn't have any better options. He wouldn't have to fly directly to London, however. If he could at least get into Great Britain, or even somewhere like France, that was good enough.

And how, exactly, was he supposed to do that?

He couldn't use magic to change his appearance, so it was going to be far more difficult than last time. He didn't have fake identification, nor did he have money. He did, however, still have the emerald and diamond-studded silver ring he only wore because of its refusal to slip off. It was enough to guarantee a bribed flight into Europe, if he could find some oil.

Sirius headed over to one of the many sheds and warehouses lining the shipping docks, and made his way to the nearest one. He listened intently and checked to make sure no one was around before slipping through the rusted fence.

Sirius quietly hurried to the entrance of the warehouse, and paused in the shadows, once more looking around to make sure he hadn't been spotted. Satisfied, he turned back to the wooden doors and examined the lock as best he could in the darkness. It was a simple key lock, but he would have to find a way to break it since he no longer had his wand.

Sirius looked around for something heavy—anything—that he could use. Yet there was nothing there.

Sirius cursed to himself under his breath as he circled the dock. It was completely empty.

He slipped through the rickety gated fence, and headed back towards the dock entrance. Without thinking more carefully upon it, Sirius decided to follow the only plan he had. Besides, he had to find Harry.

Returning to the original fishing dock with the same men, Sirius slipped in quietly. The three fishermen were now unloading their pots, talking amongst themselves in Spanish. Sirius watched them for a moment, kneeling behind a stack of wooden crates, wondering how he was going to do this.

He had seen a fire axe on the fishing boat earlier, and had hoped that if the fishermen recognized him, they would forget they had the axe. Now he needed to think of a way to distract them, retrieve the axe, and slip away, all unnoticed.

Sirius stared at the pot they were currently unloading onto the dock as he thought. Whether through sheer coincidence and good luck, or the off chance of accidental magic, the pot slipped from its ropes and crashed onto the dock, fish spilling everywhere. The air was filled with cursing as the men steadied the mostly-empty pot and left the boat to clear up the mess.

Sirius hesitated for a moment, shocked, but quickly recovered and took his only chance to sneak on to the boat while the fishermen were distracted.

Crouching down rather uncomfortably, Sirius hurried to the fishing boat and hauled himself in. He immediately spotted the axe lying off to the side and grabbed it. He looked back over the boat's edge at the fishermen as he stealthily made his way back over the side. He stored the axe in his belt for the moment, and slipped back over the edge, on to the dock, and behind the crates.

Sirius took one last glance at the men before backing away several paces, still crouched down, before turning around and hurrying back to the wharf.

Returning to the lock, Sirius swung the axe roughly at the handle. There was a loud _clink _and a few sparks, but otherwise nothing. Sirius whacked at it a few more times until finally the rusted lock broke off.

Throwing the axe aside, Sirius slipped inside the storage shelter. It was far darker in here than it was outside, but the faint morning light mixed with the distant stadium lights cast a fair amount of light through the high windows.

Sirius immediately spotted the large oil tanks used to refuel the ships, and hurried over. As he did so, he stopped suddenly, catching sight of a leaking tap. He held his knuckles under it for a moment, then began the painstaking work of prying the ring off.

After several long minutes, the ring finally slipped over the first knuckle and off Sirius's finger. Sighing in relief and slight exhaustion, Sirius pocketed the ring and left the wharf.

Now he had to somehow find someone with a plane.

For almost an hour Sirius searched through Ushuaia for an airport. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, he managed to find a small strip near the larger shipyard. He just hoped someone there spoke English, or at least French.

The early morning cast a dull light upon the still-wet city. The dull sounds of people beginning to start their early mornings filled the cool air as Sirius walked toward the entrance.

He hadn't expected the gate to be open, but it was still an enormous and frustrating setback to come across it locked. Sirius sighed exasperatedly and turned around, leaning against the damp metal bars. He gazed absentmindedly around the empty road, past an opening pottery shop, someone huddled in an alley, and an oncoming pick-up truck. Sirius watched it go by, and just as it gargled past, his gaze caught on to the alley directly in front of him.

There had been a person there a moment before, but now they were gone. Sirius, deciding he had no better options, walked across the road to find them. He hoped they could speak English; that way they would be able to tell him when someone would arrive to unlock the gates at the airport.

The alley immediately descended down a flight of steps between the two stone buildings before making a sharp left. Though the sky had lightened to a pale gray, the buildings still cast dark shadows into the alley, making it fairly difficult to see.

Rounding the corner, Sirius caught sight of the local. He called after them, but they didn't answer, nor show any sign that they had heard him. Sirius quickened his pace, and soon accidentally tripped over a ceramic flowering pot in the darkness.

"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered under his breath, managing to catch himself before he fell over.

Looking around he saw that the local had paused and turned around. Sirius peered through the shadows, and upon closer examination, his heart stopped.


	14. a memo

A/N: I meant to post this a few days ago, but my internet commited suicide, and I had to wait until I could find a new computer.

"Pray, how comes love?"

"It comes unsought, unsent."

"Pray, how goes love?"

"That was not love that went."

-_Millicent Raymond_, by Fannie E. Newberry

_Harry sat in _the cool cave, staring at the shadows on the stone wall made by the lamp. Dad—_no, _Sirius—had been outside for what seemed like a lifetime by now. Harry knew he was boiling water, but he had a wand after all. It shouldn't be taking this long.

Harry waited a few more minutes, then started to get annoyed. He didn't even know why. He was angry at him. But he still wanted to know what was taking him so long.

Sighing, Harry got up and headed towards the entrance, feeling the cold cave walls to make his way in the darkness. As Harry approached the opening, he could hear voices. That wasn't right. They weren't even speaking English.

Filled with a sudden wave of caution, Harry carefully peered through the hole, fresh rain sprinkling down on the top of his head. He could make out the shapes of two men, one of which was rather squat, and something black at their feet. Harry looked closer, trying to see in the darkness. One of the men bent over the black thing, talking to his friend.

As a flash of lightning suddenly cracked overhead, and Harry's eyes widened in horror. The black shape lying in the sand was Sirius.

Rain began to beat down with such ferocity the men's conversation suddenly became more urgent. They finished rummaging through Sirius's pockets, and left quickly.

For several minutes Harry stood frozen in the entryway, and was soaked in seconds. He stared wide-eyed at the dark lump in the sand, listening intently. Another bolt of lightning flashed overhead. When he was satisfied the strange men were indeed gone, Harry quickly crept out of the hole and ran over to Sirius, hoping he was just playing along with the strange men.

"Sirius!" he said loudly, kneeling over him. It was the first time he had called him by his real name out loud, and it felt infinitely strange. "Sirius, wake up!"

He didn't move.

Frightened, Harry began shaking him, calling his name over and over. When there was still no answer, Harry began beating against his chest. He was starting to cry by now.

"Sirius, wake up! I didn't mean it when I said I hated you! Wake up! They're gone now, you can stop pretending!"

Nothing.

It was then a thrill of horror filled Harry as another flash of lightning blared overhead and he saw blood just below Sirius' right ear. An impossible thought began echoing in his mind, and Harry began to cry even harder.

They had killed Sirius.

Harry fell over on top of Sirius's chest, crying and pleading with him to wake up. This continued for several minutes, until Harry, exhausted, finally lay still.

What was he going to do now?

He obviously couldn't stay here. He had nowhere to go, and for all he knew, those men would be back again. He had to leave.

But to where?

Harry sat up again, using the back of his hand to fruitlessly dry one of his cheeks. Sirius had said something about sneaking on the ship and going to England to find some man named Remus Lupin. That was why they left home and came all the way here. People were looking for them. Was that who those men had been? Is that why they killed Sirius?

Harry bent over to hug Sirius's limp form one last time before standing up and hurrying back to the cave entrance. He quickly packed the few belongings together, and pulled on Sirius's coat that had been left behind. Once the cave was empty, Harry extinguished the lamp and headed back outside.

Harry tried not to look at him, but his gaze fell on Sirius anyway. He paused for a moment, and then suddenly remembered something, something Sirius had said was very important. Harry moved over to him and rummaged through his pockets. The money was gone; the men had obviously taken it, but hopefully they left the wand.

Finding nothing in his sweatshirt, Harry checked his trousers. In the second pocket, he felt the cold wood, and slipped the wand out. He looked at it for a moment, then placed it inside the coat pocket. He managed to force himself to keep from looking at Sirius as he stood up again, and made his way through the mushy sand toward the city.

For what seemed like a lifetime Harry walked through bushes and then along a winding road he only vaguely remembered, before he finally reached Ushuaia. He couldn't for the life of him remember where the shipping dock was, and there was no one outside any longer that he could ask. The rain was pounding without mercy overhead now, but Sirius's coat was keeping him dry for the most part.

Harry pulled it tighter about him as he continued walking down the road, deciding he might as well walk until he either came across the wharf or somebody he could ask directions of.

For what must have been the entire night, Harry wandered the empty roads of Ushuaia, achieving getting lost several times. He wound up in the same neighborhood so many times, he started to know it fairly well by now. He finally managed to make it towards the beach after guessing what a few signs with ships and Spanish writing meant.

It took the better part of an hour to finally reach the wharf, and by now, the rain had let up for the most part. While everything around him was dotted with deep puddles and was soaking wet, Harry was remarkably dry. He began to suspect Sirius's coat had some kind of charm on it to keep him dry.

Harry wandered the docks for a while, trying to remember which ship Sirius had said they were going to sneak on to get to England. This was quite difficult, as it was still pitch black and there were far too many ships to choose from.

Harry began to get frustrated. Large, stadium-like floodlights illuminated the darkness around him, as well as at least five ships. Then there were a few more further down the beach.

Harry looked around to try and find the pier he had eaten lunch with Sirius at. The ship they needed had been right there.

Harry turned around and began walking towards the end of the large wharf, arms wrapped tightly about himself in the large coat to keep himself warm. And, perhaps, to keep himself comforted.

By the time Harry managed to spot what he assumed was the correct pier, the rain had stopped, and the sky was beginning to lighten. Harry sat down on the wet concrete and waited for morning. Yet before even an hour passed, hunger began to make itself known.

Harry opened up the small bag of provisions Sirius had purchased the day before, and looked inside. There was a fair amount there; enough to last the journey across the ocean, but not nearly enough for the entire trip to Remus Lupin's house. Harry didn't even know where in England he lived.

Harry remembered he had ages before the boat left. Sirius had estimated a few days, even. That meant he had time enough to beg food, or even steal it, in the meantime to last his journey.

Harry couldn't remember where the market was, but did see several closed grocery shops in the neighborhood he kept winding up in several hours earlier, and was pretty sure he remembered how to get there. The way from the neighborhood to the wharf had been fairly straightforward.

It took only half an hour to reach the neighborhood again. The shops were still closed, so Harry decided to wait until they opened, rather than looking for the market. He sat down in the entrance of an alley, the driest spot he could find, and waited.

He must have dozed off, because the next time Harry looked around, the sky had paled to a light gray, and the streets were beginning to dry off. He yawned, and looked back out towards the main road, and saw a man leaning against the fence, seemingly staring right at him. Harry froze.

Had one of the men from earlier found him? Did he know Harry had been there, and was he going to kill him as well, now?

A truck slugged past just then, and Harry took the opportunity to try and sneak away. He didn't get very far, however, when he heard the man following him. Harry quickened his pace, hurrying through the dark alley. The man called something out to him, but Harry was too nerve-wracked to catch what it said.

There was the sound of something ceramic shattering, and the man cursed to himself.

"Bloody hell."

Harry froze. Not only was that English, but the voice sounded suddenly familiar with the British curse. Harry turned around slowly, and peered at the man through the darkness.

He took a few steps forward, and then they both froze, simply staring at the other.

"Harry?"

Harry didn't move. He couldn't believe it, it had to be a trick. There was no way.

Sirius had died.

Before Harry knew it, the man had him in a tight embrace, and Harry found himself holding just as tightly. The man was soaking wet and freezing to the touch, but Harry didn't care. He couldn't believe he was alive.

"What happened? Are you all right?" Harry couldn't remember being happier about Sirius' fussing.

Tears of extreme relief began welling in Harry's eyes. "I'm sorry!" he said into Sirius's shoulder. "I thought you were dead. There was blood, and—"

"What?"

"If I knew you weren't dead, I swear I wouldn't have left! I'm sorry! The men attacked you, and you were just lying there. I didn't know what to do!"

"Wait, what?" Sirius said, kneeling and setting Harry back down on the pavement.

Harry then launched into his explanation of what had happened.

"And then I saw you across the street, but I thought one of them had come, so I tried to leave. But when I heard you say 'bloody hell', I knew it must have been you, because you're English, and only English people say that." Harry paused, slightly winded, then threw his arms around Sirius once more. He offered several more incoherent apologies and explanations into Sirius's shoulder.

Sirius hardly caught the exact words of Harry's apologies, just as Harry barely discerned the words of comfort Sirius spoke to him. Just the knowledge that the other was truly there was overwhelming.

For several long moments they simply stayed like that, everything else forgotten. The fact that the entire world was looking for them, now more so than ever didn't cross their minds.

It wasn't until a woman entered the alley way and started yelling in a panicked voice did Sirius and Harry remember the predicament they were still in.

Both jumped in surprise, and Sirius whipped around suddenly. The woman shined an electric light at them, and Harry was momentarily blinded. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as Sirius quickly got to his feet and immediately stepped in front of him. The woman let out a scream and tore off running, dropping the light. It flickered as it hit the stone, but did not break.

Without wasting another moment, Sirius quickly grabbed Harry and ran in the opposite direction.

"Why is she screaming? Is she going to get the police?" Harry asked, looking over Sirius's shoulder.

"I think so, Harry," said Sirius shortly, quickly gaining momentum. When they had descended a flight of steps and rounded a corner, Sirius paused, his breathing slightly labored. Looking around, he added, "You still have my wand?"

Harry immediately pulled it out of Sirius's coat and handed it to him. Without another moment's hesitation, Sirius disapparated.

_

* * *

Frank was quite relieved when Victor told him he had connections with the Department of Magical Transportation. For several days he had worried if they would need to get into America by muggle means, and knew it wouldn't bode well with the airline security to discover the large collection of weapons and magical tracking devices._

Since it would be quite a bit of work to arrange a fireplace at their destination, Victor managed to set up a portkey that would take them directly to New York. Though none of them expected Black to still be there, it was the only place that made sense to start.

Frank was leaning back in his chair at his desk, staring absentmindedly at his cubicle wall when there was a sudden uproar on the far end of the cavernous room. Frank glanced at Victor, who was in his own cubicle across the makeshift hall. They both stood up and looked over the walls around the large room for the source of the noise. Several other heads were popping up, and small paper notes, a very recent replacement for the owls they once used, were soaring around in large quantities.

Frank looked back at Victor, confused. The office never got this excited before. Not unless...

"Ay, Roberts! What's going on?"

A witch with her head poking from the top of her cubicle turned towards Frank. "They think they may have received a tip-off about Black. They might know where he is," she called over the noise.

"What?" said Frank and Victor together.

"Where?" he added quickly.

The witch shrugged. "I don't know. That's the rumor that's going around at any rate. Annie told me just a moment ago," she said, holding up a small purple slip. "Although I don't see what else could possibly get everyone this excited."

Frank looked back to Victor; both had an identical glint in their eye.

Without another word, Frank hurried out of his cubicle, and made for the opposite side of the room, where the lift was. Just as it was about to take off, he yanked open the golden grilles and quickly slid inside.

The lift was fairly crowded with urgently whispering people, and even more purple memos than usual. Frank spotted several random pieces of parchment charmed to fly to their destination, as though someone had run low on memos.

"What's going on?" he asked the closest person next to him.

"Haven't you heard? We received a call from a muggle just minutes ago, who reported seeing Sirius Black and Harry Potter," he replied. "Not my department of course," he added hastily. "But when I was passing through the Auror department at the time, word got out."

"Where? Do they know where Black was spotted?"

The red-haired man studied him for the briefest of moments before replying, "Some city in Argentina. I didn't catch the name."

Frank nodded distractedly. This was a sudden last-minute change of plans, but now they had a better chance of tracking Black; it was only minutes ago he was seen in Argentina. It was a far better lead than the one he would have started out on that very evening.

The lift clanged to a stop on the next floor, and Frank squeezed his way out. He hurried to the nearest desk and began scribbling out a hurried memo for Victor.

"Is it true, what they're saying?" asked the desk's occupant, ignoring the fact that his memo pad and quill were being used without permission. "That they've spotted Black?"

"I think so," answered Frank shortly, sending the purple slip of paper on its way. "In Argentina, I heard." Without another word, he hurried away to find Edna Lively, who was supplying their smuggled Portkey to New York.

The Department of Magical Transportation was in even more of a frenzy than his own floor, Frank noticed as he hurried between the cubicles.

Finally, slightly winded, Frank reached Edna Lively's office, and knocked urgently on the door.

"Come in," she replied from the other side of the wood.

Frank practically ripped the door off its hinges when he flew inside and blurted, "The destination has changed, and we need a new Portkey."

Lively jumped at the sudden entrance, although expected, and stared at him. "I take it you've heard, then?" she said from behind her desk. Without waiting for an answer, she said, "I'll send you a memo when your Portkey is ready." She returned to the papers she was reading.

"What?"

Lively glanced up at him, her hand motionless. "You're not stealing a Ministry Portkey to hunt for Mr. Black, then?"

Frank paused. "Of course not," he answered. "My Head has simply informed me he wants to head for Argentina immediately, to take advantage of the new lead."

Lively stared at him for a moment before returning to her paperwork. It was hard to say whether she believed him or not.

"How long will it take?" Frank asked, straightening up slightly and sounding more professional."

"It depends," she said without looking up. "Your Key to the City took me two days—"

"I'm afraid my Head doesn't have that long," said Frank as calmly as he could. "This Key is of the utmost importance at the moment—"

"I know that, Mr. Maguire, but unfortunately I am excruciatingly busy with this whole Black fiasco as it is, and that's not including your other plans."

Frank opened his mouth angrily to reply, but a sharp knock on the door cut him off.

"Come in," Lively said, staring at Frank as she spoke.

The door opened smoothly, much unlike its previous opening. It was Crouch.

"Have you got the reports yet?" he barked, entering the small office. "Fudge is expecting them."

"They're in that box there," said Lively, pointing towards a medium-sized cardboard box overflowing with folders and parchment. "All the important aspects are highlighted accordingly."

Crouch eyed the mess for a moment, then picked up the overflowing box and left the office wordlessly.

"You had better be grateful I'm the only one here," she said stiffly, moving to a locked cabinet on the adjacent wall and unlocking it with her wand. "Judy was supposed to come back from maternity leave over a week ago. Otherwise I wouldn't be here to help you steal Portkeys and run away to random countries."

"That's not—"

"Oh, don't humor me, Mr. Maguire," said Lively, rolling her eyes as she locked the cabinet once more. "Dear Victor may have pretended he needed the Portkey for strict business purposes, but I'm not senile yet. I know the two of you are leading a little group to hunt for Black. I can't prove it, however, and I'm not really sure I want to.

"But let me make it clear I certainly don't agree with what you're doing," she said, shooting him a look. "I want Black arrested as much as the next person, but I don't pretend that this is a good plan. However," she continued, sighing. "It seems to be the only thing productive being done around here."

"Then why are you helping?"

"Because you are going to sneak out to Argentina regardless," she answered. "So I figure I might as well do everything I can to help while it's still possible. The records will say you accompanied Victor on a business trip concerning Argentina. As it has been in the records for almost a week, no one will make any fuss about it. All I have to do is change the destination. Thanks to me, it will appear as a mere coincidence you had to leave for Argentina the same time word got out about Black."

"And I am forever grateful," said Frank, stuffing the wallet in his pocket. "Are you sure no one will notice?"

"I doubt it," answered Lively. "It's so chaotic, I doubt anyone really notices anything here anymore. Judy had better make her plum cake upon her return, however. Not everyone used to be Head of this Department, you know. I could have given her job to anyone."

Frank stared at her for a moment. "I didn't know you used to work _here_."

"It was before I worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she answered. "Then I retired early, went mad with my excess of time, and came back here."

Frank stared at Lively for a moment. Although she had short white hair, she never came off as elderly.

"Now," she said curtly, shooing him away with her free hand. "Go find Johann, and tell him I want this key's destination changed to... I don't know, Buenos Aires."

"Are you sure—?"

"He won't make anything of it. We have to change Key destinations all the time," she said simply. "Besides, he has terrible memory. He'll assume this was meant for the Aurors, or something to that effect. Perfect man for his job, really. Now get going on your business trip, Mr. Maguire, before I change my mind."

Frank paused for a moment, then backed out of the office. "Thank you."

_

* * *

Sirius apparated suddenly at the fairly empty shipping docks. He looked around, panic starting to well inside of him once more. If the woman recognized him, she was probably phoning a hotline this very moment. He had to leave before the Ministry could arrive._

For a wild moment he considered making another illegal Portkey, but the Ministry had undoubtedly developed ways to trace it after his first escape, even after the Key's destruction. That left apparition, but Sirius had never risked such a long distance before. He didn't even want to consider what would happen if he was splinched with Harry.

Sirius turned back to stare at the ship that wasn't due to leave for another couple of days. That was far too long, he thought dully.

In the distance, a foghorn sounded so loudly it caused Sirius and Harry to both jump in surprise. Sirius turned to stare at the gray ocean to his left, and paused. Several hundred feet out, a large ship was leaving the port.

Without wasting another moment to reconsider, Sirius disapparated to the ship heading out to sea. He had no idea where it was heading, but found he didn't care, as long as he got away from the Americas.

Reappearing once more on the main deck, Sirius didn't waste a moment to look around before he disappeared through a door and ran down several flights of iron stairs. Harry was still clinging to his soaking clothes, his head resting on his shoulder.

After several long minutes and many wrong turns, Sirius found the main storage cavity, and slipped inside. He walked carefully around the towers of crates until he came across a satisfactory hiding place. He set Harry down, and using his wand, moved several crates around so the entrance was blocked. This allowed them better secrecy and a bit more room.

Breathing harder than normal, Sirius flopped down next to Harry and leaned against the cold metal ship. For several moments they sat in silence. Sirius still couldn't believe he managed to accidentally come across Harry, be found himself by a stranger, and still manage to escape for the third time before the Ministry showed up.

Sirius looked out a tiny round window and could see the dark outline of the port and the spiking mountains in the distance. When he was satisfied the ship was far enough out to sea, Sirius lit the small lamp in the bag Harry had carried, and looked around. Several of the crates seemed to be filled with food being exported. Smiling humorlessly to himself about their late brush of luck, Sirius opened the nearest crate and pulled out a bundle of greenish bananas.


	15. ministry of morons

A/N: Simply answering questions here... **Frodo**: bananas do indeed grow in Argentina and are exported, although they are a small percentage of Argentina's trade. **Len87**: I thought about that as well, but for the purposes of this story, have decided to conveniently ignore that option and draw up excuses (that I have invented) about apparition, such as the need for an exact location and distance restraints of a hundred miles or so, leaving apparition over the ocean impossible. It still leaves the Alaska-Russia route open I suppose, but I'm going to pretend Sirius doesn't think of that with all his distractions. Wow, that was long. **Doom187**: It's habit, and the editing preview being weird when I divide sections. Originally it's the first few words (to organize the story on my computer) but the editing device changes it for unknown reasons automatically. **Janeyboy**: (even though you reviewed chapter eight) There will be more magic in it later on, but at the moment, it's fairly restricted on his part. I've envisioned Sirius being wary of using magic due to all the Ministry's tracking methods (and others that don't exist, but may for all he knows after fleeing England and living as a muggle). This makes him paranoid in that sense, but I would be too if I were in his position. **To everyone else**: much thanks for reviewing.

"My life is in the woods, and my heart is on the river."

-Mike Lokan

_For over a _week they hid inside the cavernous storage compartment, living off of not yet ripe fruit, various grains, and other plant life found inside the ship. It was extremely uncomfortable, sitting in the small hole day in and day out. Several times they would crawl out in the early morning to walk around the boiler room and stretch their legs.

Rats were also quite popular in the lower levels of the barge. After a few days, Sirius managed to remember the incantation to a simple household spell to keep them away from their hiding place. Growing weary of peanuts and grapes, he almost considered roasting the rats themselves, but thought better of it.

Harry spent a good portion of their journey in relative quiet, speaking occasionally to ask questions of the wizarding world, his family, and Voldemort. Much of the later subject Sirius had to water down, or else tell Harry he would understand better when he was older. Harry's anger toward Sirius seemed to have vanished almost entirely after their brief mishap in Ushuaia.

Sirius himself spent a great deal of time sleeping during the second half of the week. After a few days, he noticed he began to fall ill once again, having only been better for a day or two since leaving New York. He imagined running around all night in the middle of a storm had made it worse once more.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked on the ninth evening, arranging his scavenged sunflower seeds in shapes on the blanket he was sitting on.

"Dunno," answered Sirius, lying on his side, eyes shut. "Either Europe or Africa is my best guess."

"I mean, when we get to land again," he continued. "I know we're going to England eventually, but where to before that?"

"Depends where we end up. If in Europe, probably straight there. If we stop in Africa, we would have to travel through Egypt, Greece, Italy, and several other countries."

"Have you ever been to Italy?"

"A few times," Sirius mumbled, still lying motionless. "Never go there in the spring, however."

"How come?"

"It's the hottest place on earth."

"Oh."

They were quiet for several minutes. Sirius shifted slightly to get comfortable in the rather small hiding place while Harry continued to rearrange his seeds. The ship continued the dull hum as it traveled through the icy water.

"I see land," Harry announced.

Sirius opened his eyes and looked over at where Harry was standing on tip-toe. Slowly he lifted his shoulders and groggily moved over to where Harry was. Through the tiny round window in the iron wall, Sirius could dimly see the dark outline of a once-distant country in the quickly-approaching night.

Sirius immediately packed together their few belongings in the rucksack, along with several nuts and seeds, as well as some fruit. His going was slightly delayed however, as his vision was constantly interrupted with dark spots and his hands didn't move as fast as normal. When he was satisfied he could no longer fit anything else inside, he closed the bag's clasp and looked back out the tiny window. While the dark strip had increased in size, he was sure it would be several hours before they reached the port.

For a moment he debated whether he could get away with apparating to the Port, but decided against it. He had no idea where they were, or how busy the port would be. He would have to wait until it was within sight.

Harry pocketed his seeds and sat down, staring off silently. Sirius watched him for several moments, and vaguely wondered to himself if Harry was still angry with him. Turning back towards the window, Sirius watched the shore gradually increase in size. After nearly a week and a half hiding inside a cargo ship, he was relieved by the prospect of land once more.

They waited half an hour in silence, until it was broken by Harry asking, "Once we get to England, what are we going to do?"

Sirius looked down at him, frowning slightly. "Well, I'm going to have to pay a visit to your Uncle Remus first."

"Then what? Are we going to look for a new house or something?"

Sirius hesitated. "Yes and no."

Harry stared at him. "That doesn't make sense," he informed him, eyebrow quirked slightly.

"If all goes well, you're going to live with Remus from now on. You'll probably have to get it passed through the Ministry of Morons—"

Harry giggled at that.

"—and there is the matter of, er, Remus's condition," he continued, thinking. Would Remus even be able to keep Harry? He had heard that the Wolfsbane Potion had come out in the market the previous year, but that was bound to cost a fortune. Remus would never be able to afford such an expensive remedy. Perhaps he could somehow find Snape, and threaten him t brew it for him.

"What do you mea?"

"You know what werewolves are, don't you?" Sirius asked, wondering if he was going to hear an explanation of an episode of Scooby Doo.

Harry stared at him, mouth open slightly. "No way," he whispered.

"Yes way," said Sirius. "And don't tell anyone, either," he added seriously. "Werewolves aren't exactly held in the highest esteem. People have a tendency to be stupid, and discriminate against—"

"What's that mean?" Harry asked.

"It means a lot of people hate werewolves for no real reason," said Sirius. "They're afraid of them; they think they're some kind of monster. And when you meet Remus, you'll see that's not true. Werewolves are normal people, except for about two nights every twenty-eight days. Every full moon. They have no control over themselves then, but there is a potion out now that is supposed to change that."

"Make them stop being werewolves?"

"If only," said Sirius sadly. "But it does help make the transformations less painful, and I think it's supposed to actually make them turn into a normal wolf instead. Something like that."

Harry digested all this new information in, and finally said, "So we're going to live with Remus?"

Sirius hesitated. "Not quite."

"What do you mean?"

"_You're _going to live with Remus," said Sirius slowly. "I'm not."

Harry stared at him. For a brief moment, his expression was uncanny to the one he wore in the train two weeks before.

He opened his mouth to reply, but just then a loud horn sounded, causing them both to jump in surprise. Sirius got to his knees and looked out the window, and saw that they were only a mile or so from the port. In the darkness, he could make out the black outlines of what appeared to be several cranes half-illuminated by flood lights, and two other barge ships anchored at the wharf. He didn't see any mountains, nor tall buildings. It was still, however, too hard to judge where they were.

Sirius picked up the rucksack and slung it over his shoulders while Harry sat stock still on the floor in silent anger. Sirius looked down at him, knowing he should say something comforting, but nothing came to mind. He couldn't say "It's for the best" or "It'll be all right" because he knew it would only make Harry angrier.

Sirius glanced out the window once more, and leaned against the iron siding, waiting. It was several long minutes before the ship had entered the wharf, and was preparing to dock.

"Come on," Sirius said to Harry, slipping out his wand. "It's time to go."

"I'm not going," Harry answered dully.

Sirius sighed inwardly. "You cannot live down here forever, Harry." After four years of being forced to call him "Adam", it felt strange to use his proper name again.

Harry ignored him.

"Harry," Sirius began wearily. "Come on, or I'm going to have to force you to come with me."

Still no answer.

Sirius sighed aloud this time, took hold of Harry's wrist tightly, and disapparated without warning.

* * *

"_You can't do _that, that's cheating!" said Harry indignantly a moment later when they appeared at the main entrance to the shipyard.

"Not so loud!" Sirius warned, looking around. He couldn't see anyone nearby, but there were several men with dark complexions further down the port, preparing to unload the barge ship they had snuck on to.

Harry ignored him, and wrested his arm out of Sirius's grip. "I'm not going with you if you're just going to leave me with a werewolf!" he practically shouted.

Sirius closed his eyes for a brief moment, praying no one was within earshot.

"First you lie to me, then you try to get rid of me?" Harry snapped indignantly, stomping his foot.

"It's more complicated than that," said Sirius, leading Harry away from the docks. He didn't come willingly.

"You always say that to everything I ask!" said Harry loudly. "Like why Voldy-mort was after me, and why he ended up destroying himself instead. Why this stupid Ministry thinks you're his friend, and why we keep running away so suddenly like this!"

"You're too young to—"

"Stop it!" Harry shouted, stopping suddenly. "Stop saying that!"

"Harry, you're five years old!" said Sirius firmly, trying to keep his own voice down.

"I don't care!" he yelled. "I'm not stupid! Why don't you ever tell me anything? And don't say I won't understand!"

"Can't this wait?" Sirius asked painfully, looking around as he ushered Harry once more through the entrance and down a lamp-lit street.

"No! You haven't told me anything!"

"And I will, but not now!" Sirius muttered, picking Harry up in order to move faster.

"You never do!" said Harry loudly, beating his fists against Sirius's back. "You never tell me what's going on, and why we're being chased!" Harry then tried to squirm away, but Sirius was holding on too tightly. Harry retaliated by pulling on the back of Sirius' head and kicking his feet.

Unable to see properly, Sirius almost tripped over the sudden arrival of a sidewalk. "Harry, stop it!"

"You stop it!" he snapped back, though he was referring to a different matter. "You're the one being stupid!"

Sirius sighed, and loosened his grip on Harry suddenly. He slipped several inches before Sirius regained it and continued walking briskly down the road. Harry was now back in his original position.

After briefly pausing by the sudden and unexpected drop, Harry's physical abuse resumed.

Sirius was thankful the streets were deserted and fairly empty of much more than closed factory buildings. He was sure if it were otherwise, the Ministry would be swooping down on them any moment now.

Harry added several shouts to his hitting, and it was finally becoming far too much, even if the port was empty.

Sirius turned suddenly into a nearby alley and set Harry down.

"We are running away because the Ministry is not afraid to kill me if it means getting to you," he said, kneeling in front of Harry, who watched him angrily in the orange glow of the street lamps. "Not that I care so much what happens to me, but last time they nearly killed you in the process. The woman who screamed back in Argentina probably recognized us, and we had to leave as soon as possible so the Ministry couldn't follow."

This news quieted Harry immediately.

"I had no intention to drag you with me, but after the fiasco at Remus' house, there was no other option at the time. I couldn't think straight. I had to wait for the shock to die down a little before it was safe enough to take you back. I hadn't imagined it would take four years. We weren't even supposed to leave as soon as we did, but Emily found out—"

"Emily knows about this?"

"A little, and by sheer accident," said Sirius, recalling the last day he spent in the flat, being shot at by Sean and even Emily. "So we had to leave that afternoon, to wherever we could go.

"As for why Voldemort went after your family, no one knows for sure but Voldemort Himself. He killed your parents because they were trying to protect you, as far as I can tell. As to why the curse backfired upon Himself, I can't answer that. I don't think anyone knows that, either.

"None of this was supposed to happen the way it has, but I'm trying as hard as I can to take you back and fix it. But if you keep screaming your lungs out, we're going to be found any moment now. People all over the world have been searching for us for four years, and they aren't about to forget you anytime soon."

Harry paused, then asked softly, "Why?"

"Because no one has ever lived when Voldemort decided to kill them. You're the first, and you were only an infant. Not only that, but you were his downfall as well. Most of the wizarding world look to you as a hero."

Harry stared. "What?"

"Yes, and since in their eyes I as good as abducted you, they're going to do anything it takes to find us. Only they've become so desperate, they will probably end up accidentally killing you in the process.

"And it's not just because you brought down Voldemort, either. They all think I was the only one who knew where your parents were hiding, and therefore betrayed them. The next afternoon, Peter faked his death, and added another thirteen counts of murder to my name. Everyone thinks I'm Voldemort's right hand man. In their eyes, knowing Harry Potter was kidnaped, and maybe even murdered for all they knew, they're not exactly eager to offer time for explanations.

"So when we get to England, I'm going to explain this all to Remus. And whether he believes it or not, you're going to be in his charge. As it should have been from the start of all this."

"What will happen to you?" Harry whispered.

Sirius thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

"Why can't you just live with Remus, too?"

"I doubt he would want it," said Sirius. "He thinks I killed your parents, Peter, and twelve others."

"But if you told him—"

Sirius shook his head sadly. "It's not that easy. There's no proof."

"But if I told him—"

"He would only think I made up a story, and you believed it all." Sirius paused, and wondered if perhaps Harry might look at it this way. If he did, Sirius couldn't blame him; he had lied to him about nearly everything else, after all.

"But that's so stupid," said Harry. "If he's your friend, he should believe you."

Sirius hesitated. "There was overwhelming evidence against me," he said slowly. "With no room for doubt, it's not surprising."

"He should have doubted it anyway," said Harry indignantly. "He should have known you would never—"

"It was different then. With the war going on, we wouldn't know what to think of the other. We knew there was a spy, we just never would have guessed it was Peter. Remus thought it was me, and I thought it was him. It was the only explanation."

Harry shook his head. "Adults are so dumb."

"We weren't much of adults then," said Sirius wryly. "We were only twenty-two."

"But if he does believe you," Harry pressed. "Would you stay?"

Sirius paused, then gave Harry the briefest of sad smiles before answering, "It wouldn't work. There's too high of a chance the Ministry would find me. Remus would be dragged into it, and be charged for harboring a mass murderer. He would be thrown into Azkaban."

Harry frowned. "What's that?"

"The wizard prison," said Sirius in a low voice, glancing around to be sure they were really alone. "Guarded by dementors. Those are creatures you never want to come across if you can help it. They suck out every happy thought, leaving you with nothing but your worst memories." He paused, then said in a weary voice, "That's enough for now. We need to leave before anyone can find us. All right?"

Harry chewed his bottom lip and looked away, but nodded nonetheless. Sirius led him back on to the street, and they continued walking in silence.

Sirius felt strangely worn out after the explanation, and wanted nothing more than to sleep for several days. But he had to get out of the city, wherever they were, and find a suitable hiding place for the night. He wanted to simply apparate to make it faster, but he had no idea where to apparate to. Accidentally landing on top of a dinner table during a late dinner wasn't something he had in mind.

As they left the port and reached the more populous downtown, Sirius realized they had ended up in what appeared to be India. His suspicions were confirmed as they left the outskirts of the large city, and passed several distant temples.

While he had apparated when he could to quicken the journey, they didn't make it out of the city limits until well past midnight. Harry had begun to nod off, and Sirius's arms and back were aching from carrying him for the past hour. He still hadn't come across a suitable hiding place, but decided he would have to make due with whatever was at hand.

Sirius left the country roadside and made his way carefully towards what appeared to be a dense forest. Perhaps because he grew up in London and spent the past four years in New York City, but the air seemed quite humid and thick, even in the dead of a winter night. As he stepped over a fallen log, he doubted the seasons mattered much this close to the equator.

Finding a reasonable niche near the base of a large mangrove tree, Sirius gently laid a sleeping Harry down. Twice he nearly tripped over unseen roots along the way. Harry stirred slightly, but remained asleep.

Slipping off the rucksack, Sirius untied the tightly rolled blanket and laid it out on top of Harry. He laid the bag nearby, and sat down next to Harry. While he felt quite weary and then some, he wouldn't dare go to sleep just yet. Sirius pulled out his wand, and quietly disillusioned Harry and himself before leaning back against the base of the tree trunk, nestled between the winding roots.

When morning had almost arrived, Sirius finally began to nod off, exhausted after forcing himself to stay awake for several hours.

_

* * *

Armed with a wide array of weapons and the recently-modified Portkey several days later, Frank looked to the men accompanying him: his close friend Victor, Victor's brother Stephen, and an old childhood neighbor named Taranis. All were equally armed, and providing their own natural talents and abilities. Stephen had been welcomed as an Auror to the Ministry nearly ten years ago, and fought alongside such characters as Mad-Eye Moody when Voldemort was still in power. Taranis was nearly twenty years Frank's elder, but was as sharp as ever. He was once an acclaimed Healer at a Norwegian wizarding hospital, but returned to England and trained as a Hit Wizard when the Death Eaters started to take over. Victor, like Frank himself, had excellent reflexes due to a long career of playing Quidditch for their respectable Houses while at Hogwarts. While neither of them had received special training as they worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, they were quite naturally talented at dueling._

Each man was sitting around a small kitchen table, glasses with traces of fire whiskey in front of them. The Portkey itself, a small muggle wallet, lay on the table in front of them as they waited for the clock to chime midnight.

Just then a brief tapping came at the window, and Frank looked over to see an unfamiliar tropical bird with a letter clenched in its beak. He got up and opened the glass panes. The bird dropped the letter at his feet before taking off again; it seemed eager to get away from the frosty London air.

"What's that?" Victor asked, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at the envelope.

"Dunno," answered Frank, picking it up. It was addressed to his name, but there was no other marking on the envelope. He tore it opened, and immediately flipped to the back. "It's from my step-brother."

Victor stared at him. "Doesn't he live in India, or some such place? What's he writing you for?"

Frank didn't answer as he scanned the letter. Within minutes, his eyes widened.

"What?" the others pressed him in unison.

"Just read the bloody thing aloud."

Frank glanced at them, cleared his throat slightly, then read, "'_Victor... I know it may seem strange for me to write you out of the blue, but seeing as you work at your Ministry, I thought this might be relevant to you._

"'_I was recently promoted to President at the spice trade company I work at, as you already knew. Earlier this evening, I was overlooking a particularly large shipment—'"_

"Wait, he's a Muggle?" Taranis asked. "What's he doing sending a...whatever that bird was?"

"Squib," Frank corrected. "His wife's a witch, however." Then he continued, "'_—and overheard a rather peculiar conversation at the shipping dock in Kochi (also called Cochin—you might be familiar with the name) between a young man and what appeared to be his son. They boy—who can't have been much older than six or so—was screaming at the man. I didn't catch the words, as they were several docks away at the wharf, but it was loud enough that I managed to hear the name "Harry"._

"'_While this is of no true concern to me, it did strike a familiar note. I can't quite explain why—hence the reason I write to you. I remember you telling me one evening at Christmas several years ago about an escaped mass murderer who had kidnaped the Potter boy... I remember it being H-something. Harold, maybe. I don't quite recall. _

"'_In the papers about a week ago, this Sirius Black character was mentioned, having been suspected of hiding in New York City, and recently fleeing once more. The story of the man became more familiar as I read the articles. _

"'_So earlier this evening while my ship was being sent out, the young man and little boy caught my attention. Of course, this is no rarity here—you see young parents with angry children all the time. At first it indeed meant nothing, but when I caught the boy's name, I studied them a bit more carefully. It was hard to tell, as it was long past nightfall and I had to rely on the less-than-desirable lighting at the wharf, but both were dark-haired, and the young man—mid-twenties, I'd guess—seemed to be in a rush to leave. _

"'_Of course, this could mean nothing at all, but I immediately thought of you afterwards. If you indeed suspect the man was Sirius Black—I honestly couldn't give my opinion—then I suggest you alert your Ministry at once, and send them here. Ernakulam would probably be your best bet. But to be perfectly honest, I really don't think it could have been much. For example, the morning following the incident in New York, I thought I was seeing Sirius Black in every young, dark-haired man I came across. But you never know. Better safe than sorry when dealing with men like him, no?_

"'_Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to send your entire Ministry swooping down here. Maybe just a quick investigation, just to be sure? And if it was indeed him—not that I know how it would be determined unless you caught him, actually—well, then you can send everyone over._

"'_I will be sending this with Olga's bird as soon as possible. Of course, you may not receive this for another two days, I'm guessing. If it does turn out to be him... I hope this letter is helpful enough. Yours, Sebastian'."_

Frank stopped reading, and the parchment bent backwards limply in his hands. He looked at the stunned and silent men at his table, equally shocked.

"No way," said Stephen finally. "Of all the people, and at all times... this can't be a coincidence."

"How likely is it that it was just another man?" said Frank. "A mid-twenties man with a little boy, both dark-haired, arriving at an international port just days after disappearing from yet another international port city in Argentina? And the boy's name being Harry? How could it not be them?"

"Then what are you suggesting?" asked Taranis evenly. "Are we going to continue on to Argentina, or follow what the letter suggests?"

Frank looked back at the parchment in his hands and said, "I would normally go with the guaranteed lead, even if it is eleven days old. I hadn't expected the Portkey to take so long. But this is just too bizarre to be a coincidence," he added, shaking the letter in one hand.

"But how are we supposed to get to India?" asked Stephen.

"Floo Powder," answered Frank softly. Getting excited, he added, "It's perfect. We can floo to Sebastian and Olga's house—they're bound to be connected—and start from there. This letter can't be that old. Besides, the Ministry has already scoured over all of Argentina, and even neighboring countries. There was nothing there, no sign."

There was a glint in his eye. "How do you boys feel for a change of plans?"


	16. gandhidham

A/N: I am having surgery to rip out my wisdom teeth at the end of the month, so unless I can get the next chapter up (depends if it's done, really) before the 25th, then it may not appear for a bit. But we all know what provides great inspiration... **Janeyboy: **I am indeed, and thanks for the tip. Much love for everyone who reviewed, as always.

"For it is the dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret."

-Cry the Beloved Country

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Sirius woke with _a start to a sudden scream breaking through the early morning air. He scrambled to his feet as best he could, but black spots exploded in his eyes, completely obstructing his vision. He whipped his wand out, and tried in vain to clear his vision.

When it had at last returned, he saw that the mangrove forest was completely empty. He looked around carefully, but there was nothing there but the distant birdsong. Sirius relaxed slightly, then realized he hadn't seen Harry. He returned to the other side of the ancient tree, and saw only the rucksack.

Harry wasn't there.

_Not again. Crap. Not again. _Panic welled inside Sirius once more as suddenly as he had woken up. He cursed to himself aloud, looking around wildly.

"Sirius?" the familiar voice called out.

"Harry?" Sirius said loudly, looking around and breathing a sigh of relief.

"Where are you?"

"I'm by the tree we slept at," said Sirius, taken aback slightly. Had Harry wandered off and gotten lost?

There was a pause.

"Harry?"

"I don't see you," he said tentatively, speaking loud enough for someone a hundred yards away to hear.

"I'm right by the rucksack," said Sirius, looking down. He paused, noticing he could barely see his own feet. Then he realized the disillusionment charm was still in place. He sighed, slightly annoyed with himself, and took it off.

"Oh, there you are," said Harry, sounding relieved. He paused. "Wait... Aaaarrrgghhh! I'm invisible! I can't see myself!"

Panicked, Harry apparently tore off running.

"Harry!" Sirius yelled, following nothing but the occasional rusting of plants and bending of branches. "Harry, come back! I can fix it!"

Harry let out another panicked scream, and appeared to have turned around, running in a large circle. Sirius paused, catching the snapping of dryrot out of the corner of his eye, and turned around, hopping over a large log and trying to keep his eye on the rustling of plant life that signaled Harry's presence.

"Harry, stop running!" Sirius yelled, making a blind grab when he thought Harry ran by. He felt the brush of Harry's coat, but that was all. "I can fix it! It was just a spell!"

Harry appeared to have stopped suddenly, wherever he was. Sirius listened carefully, and could hear Harry's heavy breathing about fifteen feet to the left. Quietly he stepped forward, and took aim at a slight distortion of color that must have been Harry.

A moment later, the charm was broken.

Harry quickly looked to his hands, and touched his chest and arms to make sure they were really there. He turned to Sirius, and said, "You did that?"

"Yes," said Sirius, pocketing his wand once more. "To keep us from being seen. I hadn't expected you would wake up first."

Harry simply stared at him with a blank expression for a moment, then looked around for something. "My shoe..." he mumbled.

Sirius looked at Harry's feet, and saw that one of his shoes had come off in his panicked running. Knowing it would take too long otherwise, Sirius pulled out his wand once more, and summoned it blindly from a bush.

They ate a quick breakfast in silence before packing their few belongings and taking off once more.

Sirius, having slept little more than three hours at best, was having trouble keeping his head from spinning. It hadn't helped that the first thing he did upon was waking was panic twice, and chase Harry in an attempt to catch him so he could reverse the spell.

In the daylight, they could see that the road seemed to stretch on for miles in a single direction. Sirius vaguely wondered to himself if it was worth risking apparition to shave off a day or so of walking. He hadn't minded using it in the populous city, as there were bound to be wizards, if India did indeed have a similar magic-tracking program as England. In the country, however, it would stand out drastically.

As he thought about it, he realized he had probably used enough magic to attract the sensor's attention, and decided he may as well.

By late evening, both were utterly exhausted and starving. According to a rusted metal sign in three different languages, they were on the outskirts of Kozhikode. He had no idea where that was, but decided he could look for a transit station, and hopefully find a map. Even a tourist shop or a convenience store at a gas pump would work.

"I'm tired," Harry said, finally admitting it for the first time that day.

"I know, I am too," said Sirius empathetically. "But first I need to find out where we are, so I know where to go tomorrow. All right?"

Harry half-shrugged, half-nodded. Sirius looked around the road they were following: large trees, most of which were the mangroves, lined the roadside, but taller buildings could be seen in the distance. As they entered the main downtown, it turned into a large, bustling city crammed with people in cars, on bikes, and walking along the roadsides.

As they meandered through the streets, trying not to get lost, Sirius felt rather dizzy. He knew he was falling ill once more, and the lack of sleep wasn't helping. It seemed to be worse in the large city than it was in the country; the air must be quite polluted, he mused dully.

After wandering blindly for over half an hour, Sirius spotted a sign indicating the direction of the train station. Deciding that would be his best choice to get as far as he could, he followed the signs.

It took almost two hours to reach the train station on foot. By the time they finally reached the station, both Harry and Sirius were dead on their feet.

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Frank and the _others arrived in Kochi, India, moments later, much to the surprise of Frank's step-brother Sebastian, and his wife Olga.

"I just received your letter," Frank explained quickly. "And we're here to investigate it, you see. I'm terribly sorry to intrude so suddenly, and unannounced, but you must understand that time is of the utmost importance."

Sebastian, wearing a dressing gown over his pajamas, merely said, "Er, yes, all right... You will be wanting to go straight to the port, I presume?"

"If you would," said Frank, nodding. His glance wandered to Olga, who was eyeing their weapons with a strange expression.

"Right," said Sebastian, leaving the dining room and returning a moment later in a long overcoat and shoes, with car keys in hand. "It's about a ftwenty minute drive, mind you," he added, opening the front door.

Frank simply nodded, and followed Sebastian. The awkward drive was done in complete silence. Sebastian had never had stranger company in his car before: four men, all wizards, dressed in peculiar clothes and armed with a wide array of strange weapons. Some were rusted with age, others appeared to be state-of-the-art hunting gear. He hadn't imagined such gear would be used to capture a single man. It vaguely put him in mind of modern-day, English head-hunters.

"Here we are," he announced, pulling into the parking lot near the north end of the sea port. "Will you be—"

But before he could finish speaking, the men had already left the car, and were hurrying down the wharf.

"Thank you for the ride," Frank said, before closing the car door.

"Er, yes, no problem," said Sebastian to his empty car, watching Frank hurry to join the others.

Frank caught up with the rest of his company in moments, looking around the darkened dock. They scoured the wharf for well over an hour, before meeting up once more at the entrance. Frank sighed, looking around the dark Indian port. His gaze fell in a single road leading out of the wharf and towards the city itself, the same road they had hurried along.

"You don't reckon Black would have used magic here, do you?" he said to the others.

"Hard to say," replied Stephen, rubbing his chin. "Worth a check," he added, pulling out his wand. He muttered an unfamiliar spell, and suddenly a bright orange cloud, glittering under the flood lights, appeared several feet to their left. "Apparition," Stephen confirmed. "Doesn't guarantee who, but really...who else would have done it?"

"He must have snuck on a boat," said Taranis, gazing out over the dark ships floating in the water. His gaze traveled to the cloud, which had begun to dissipate. "And apparated here."

"There's only one exit out of the port," said Victor. "But after that, he could have gone anywhere."

"Well, we might as well look," said Frank, leading the way through the gated entrance and down the narrow lane. It opened up into a deserted city road, with silent warehouses lining both sides.

"Look for any sign that he was here," said Frank, turning left and carefully examining the pavement for anything: footprints in a spot of mud, dropped possessions.

"Definitely left on foot," Stephen confirmed, having apparently performed the same spell to detect apparition and disapparation. "I don't think muggle transit comes through here."

"I found something," Taranis called, kneeling down near the mouth of an alley.

Frank hurried over. "Yes?"

Taranis picked up a single sunflower seed, and showed it to Frank. "The only ships in the Port are export and import. How likely is it that there would be a fresh seed here for no reason?"

Frank examined it closely, then looked to the pavement, where a few scattered seeds lay. He then looked down the road, and said, "Black went north."

He unconsciously pocketed the seed, standing up. "We have our heading."

It was early morning by the time they came across any sign that they were indeed on the correct trail. On a country road, several miles away from the city limits of Kochi, Stephen spotted footprints in the soil off to the side. Upon closer examination, he led the way into a grove of trees, where they came across a tirade of scattered footprints, and the ghost of a large indentation near the base of a mangrove.

"They slept here for the night," Victor confirmed, examining the spot closely. He picked something up. "More sunflower seeds."

Frank trudged back to the road, and looked carefully towards the direction they were initially heading. "It just goes on for miles," he said, peering through the dim light.

"These tracks aren't that old yet," said Stephen, still kneeling by a set of footprints. "Two days old, I'd guess."

Frank turned to him, looking over the plant life lining the road's sides. "They can't have that great of a lead on us."

Taranis returned to the roadside, pulling out his wand as he went. For a third time that morning, he muttered the strange spell. In the distance, barely visible, a bright orange cloud could be seen.

"He apparated every few miles, by the looks of it," he said, pocketing the wand as the cloud dissipated. "Tried to go as fast as he could while leaving the smallest trail."

"But not good enough," said Frank, still staring at the spot where the orange cloud once was. "He won't be able to maintain his lead much longer."

A moment later, they were following the dim orange trail until they had reached a large city called Kozhikode by mid-evening.

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Sirius, following his _initial plan, managed to find a map of the entire area, and discovered they were in southwestern India. He looked back toward the ticket booths, and decided to try and get on to the train, and travel as far north as possible.

First he would have to find a way to get money. He remembered the shrunken furniture on the rucksack, and decided he would pawn it off in exchange for currency. That would be simple enough. But the real problem was getting on to the train without being recognized, or attracting suspicion.

Sirius checked a sign near a fairly long line, and scanned to the very bottom, where prices were printed in English. The next available train north was to Gandhidham for roughly three-hundred rupees in the lowest class.

Sirius checked his map, and found Gandhidham, just south of Pakistan. Deciding he couldn't hope for a better northern location, Sirius checked the departure time for the train: 7:45 p.m. Sirius checked his watch. That only gave him an hour and a half to pawn off his possessions and purchase the tickets.

He would have preferred to sneak on to a cargo train, but unfortunately, there were only passenger trains.

"Come on," he said to Harry, leading him away from the station. He paused suddenly for a moment, remembering the ring he had pried off back in Argentina. He slipped it out of his pocket, and examined the silver ring. It was worth quite a sum of money, but he didn't care how much he bartered it for, as long as he had enough to get out of the country.

Knowing full well how strange he was going to sound, Sirius turned back to the line inside the station waiting to purchase tickets for Gandhidham.

"Excuse me, but do you speak English?" he asked the nearest man. He was tall and lanky with a short crop of dark hair and slightly watery eyes.

"I do," he said, nodding, looking rather curious.

"This is going to sound strange," Sirius began slightly awkwardly. "But all of my money has been stolen, and my nephew and I need to get to Gandhidham tonight. I've only just realized." He held up the ring. "This could fetch you a hefty sum when bartered with a jeweler or antique dealer. I would have simply done it myself, but there's not enough time, and I don't know where any jewelers in this city are.

"What I'm asking is, if you could get me two tickets to Gandhidham—doesn't matter which seating—I will trade you this ring."

The man cast him a slightly suspicious look before taking the ring and examining it. "This real?"

"Yes," Sirius replied, glancing around. "Diamonds and an emerald in a pure silver band."

The man sighed, apparently torn between two difficult choices. "Why you asking me?" he said finally.

"You're the first person," Sirius said, shrugging. "I just figured ask someone who was already in line to buy tickets."

The man pursed his lips, examining the ring in the light.

"You don' care about your seating, you said?"

Sirius nodded.

"If this is worth so much, why are you practically giving it away?" the man asked, lowering his arm and turning to look at him.

"Because it's a family heirloom I don't much care for," Sirius replied. "And we need to get to Gandhidham tonight—the next train isn't until next Sunday—and I figured it would be plenty to cover the cost."

The man sighed, taking another look at the ring.

"You're really in a hurry, then?" he asked.

"My sister—my nephew's mother—is quite ill," Sirius lied on the spot. He had made up so many stories since fleeing England the words flowed effortlessly. "It's just—we need to get there as soon as possible. You understand how it is."

The man nodded once, though it was impossible to tell what his decision was. He sighed, then said, "Oh, all right, then. I shouldn't be doing this, but... Fine."

"Thank you so much," Sirius said, completely relieved.

"Yes, yes," the man said, pocketing the ring. "You wait over there," he added, pointing to a bench near the exit to the front of the line. "And I will give you your tickets in a moment."

Sirius took Harry's hand, and headed over to the bench the man had indicated. Not completely foolhardy, Siris kept a close eye on the man in case he tried to run with the ring before purchasing the train tickets. The man, however, kept his place in line until he reached the counter. A few minutes later, after what appeared to be some bargaining, the man walked over.

"These are AC Chair Class, so fairly good. You're supposed to pay a reservation fee several hours in advance, but I persuaded him to overlook it." He handed Sirius two tickets.

After thanking him once more, Sirius hurried toward the correct platform, handed over the tickets, and boarded the train. The entire process seemed to take only seconds, but he knew it was roughly fifteen minutes.

Harry, now more alert than ever, clung to Sirius' leg as he looked around the train with wide eyes. He had never been on a train before, especially one like this. He had always imagined trains as little private compartments with sliding doors and benches. This train was almost like a bus in the sense that there were bright blue seats, two on each side, lining either side of the aisle, and storage racks near the roof.

"Come on," said Sirius soothingly to Harry, leading him to the very end of the long compartment. He let Harry in first, then sat down next to him, immediately leaning his head back and closing his eyes in exhaustion. If he wasn't so paranoid they would be recognized, even in India, he would have gone to sleep right there. His head began to throb dully every few seconds in protest.

Harry stared out the train's window for the first half hour of the journey, before curling up in his seat and resting his head on Sirius before falling asleep.

The lights inside the train had been dimmed, and most people were either reading the local paper by a private light, or else nodding off. Sirius wanted deeply to join the later, but a part of him still refused to allow himself to rest.

Finally, hours later, Sirius jerked out of a half-asleep reverie as the train came to a stop, and the overhead lights suddenly burst into life. Harry stirred next to him, and groaned in protest of the sudden bright light.

"I think we're here," Sirius muttered to Harry, stretching.

"Where?"

"Gandhidham."

"Where's that?"

"India," Sirius answered, stifling a yawn.

"Is that where we are?"

"Yes," answered Sirius. "Only we're quite close to Pakistan. We're probably going there next."

"What's Pakistan?" Harry mumbled, sitting up straighter. Several of the train's occupants were unloading luggage and preparing to exit.

"It's another country just north of India," Sirius answered.

Still barely awake, Harry pursed his lips for a moment, squinting slightly as he looked around the train. Focusing on the window for a moment, he said, "It's still dark out."

Sirius checked his watch. "It's nearly four in the morning," he said, rubbing his eyes.

Harry groaned again and allowed himself to flop backwards against the cushioned seat.

Ten minutes later, Sirius was carrying Harry out of the bright train station and into the dark and early morning. Though he couldn't tell in the darkness, the city appeared to be situated in a fairly barren area; almost desert-like. A shocking change of scenery after the lush plant life in Kochi. The buildings weren't as tall here either, Sirius noticed as he walked stiffly down the dark road. Nor did it appear as though it was as crowded. That meant there was no one to see them head off into the middle of nowhere.

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_It was extremely _difficult to follow the almost nonexistent trail left by Sirius Black, the company immediately noticed when they entered Kozhikode.

"There's a train station near here," said Frank, pointing out a nearby sign. He paused, thinking. "I doubt Black would have stayed here long; it's so overpopulated he would be risking too much."

"You think he took the train?" Victor asked, rubbing the back of his head. He was sweltering in the heat, but they were forced to keep their long, muggle coats on in order to cover up their weapons.

"It would have been suicide to stay here longer than a few hours," said Frank. "Besides, he's attempted planes, and he did sneak on a barge ship over here. He seems to be trying to use muggle transportation as much as possible so he isn't tracked easily. Wise move on his part, but he's starting to become predictable."

"We might as well check," said Taranis, shrugging. "See if anyone at the ticket counters saw a young man with a little boy in the last few days. Worth a shot."

Silently agreeing to this plan, the four men, filled with a new burst of energy, followed the signs to the train station, just as Sirius Black had done only two days earlier. It took the better part of an hour before they finally found the terminal.

Without wasting time, Frank immediately moved to a security guard near the ticket counter, and asked, "Excuse me. Do you speak English?"

The security guard turned to him, and said in a faint accent, "I do. What might I help you with?"

"We're looking for a suspect who has recently fled England, and we have reason to believe he might have come through this station within the last week," Frank said, pulling an accurate sketch of Sirius Black out of his pocket. "You didn't happen to see this man, did you? He was with a young boy, about five years old."

The man took the paper and examined it for several long minutes. "He don't look familiar," he said, shrugging as he handed back the drawing.

"Are you sure?" Frank pressed.

The man nodded. "I would have remembered a white man's face; you don't see them too much here."

Frank sighed. "All right. Thank you anyway."

"Any luck?" Victor asked a moment later as they stood near the entrance to the trains themselves.

"Nothing," sighed Frank. "You?"

"Same," he said, shaking his head slightly as he looked around the station. Taranis and Stephen were currently engaged in a failing conversation with a few custodians further down the station.

"Maybe he didn't come here," said Victor as the doors behind them opened and a wave of people having just left a train filled the hall. "You would think the workers would have remembered seeing Black coming through here recently. He doesn't exactly blend in."

Frank shrugged. "Perhaps. Of course," he added as an afterthought, although he sounded skeptical of his own theory. "He could have simply used a few spells to change his appearance."

Victor shrugged, looking around once more. "If they didn't come here, then where to?"

"I have no idea," said Frank. "He could have snuck onto another ship," he mused. "You'd think it wouldn't be this hard to find a man and a boy in the middle of India when we were right on their trail."

Victor didn't reply.

"Excuse me," said a man, stepping away from the oncoming crowd from behind. "I couldn't help but overhear. You're looking for a man and boy? Coming through here?"

Frank tried very hard not to let his hopes rise instantly. "You've seen them?"

"Two days ago," he began. "A white man—young, can't have been more than twenty-five I'd guess—with a little boy came by trying to get tickets to Gandhidham. The man claimed the boy was his nephew."

"And did they get them?" Victor asked, just as excited with their sudden brush of luck as his friend.

The man hesitated. "Are you searching for this man?"

"We are," Frank confirmed, nodding. "The man's name is Sirius Black. He's wanted on suspicion of mass murder and terrorism." It was the suitable lie to explain to curious muggles Black's Death Eater status. "He's fled England after kidnaping a young boy named Harry Potter. We have evidence that he was in this city not long ago."

He seemed shocked at first. Then the man gave a half-shrug. "He offered a trade if I would buy them for him. Gave me this silver and diamond ring with this great big emerald—said it was worth a fortune—if I would get him two tickets to Gandhidham."

"Did you?"

"Of course," said the man. "What did I think of it at the time? He said he had recently been robbed, and had never been to the city before. Needed to get to Gandhidham as soon as possible to see his ailing sister—the boy's mother, he said. I figured I'd give him a break and go ahead and get the tickets. Seemed in a right state."

"How so?" Frank asked. Taranis and Stephen were approaching.

"Nervous," the man recalled. "Looked a little ill himself. Worried, I suppose. Seemed to be in a hurry. Don't blame him too much. The train to Gandhidham leaves only once every week, and he had two hours left."

"So he took the train?"

"He did," the man confirmed. "Sunday. Just before eight in the evening." He paused, then added, "He's a murderer, then?"

"We have substantial reason to believe, yes," said Victor. "We've been hunting him for quite some time."

"Well, there's no other direct way to Gandhidham until next Sunday," said the man apologetically. "You will have to find some other way. I don't know where he was headed after that. Gandhidham is about six hours north by train without any stops. Just south of Pakistan."

"We have other ways of getting there," said Taranis simply. He nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you very much for your help."

He turned to the others, a glint in his eye. Depending upon how fast Black was moving after leaving the train, they might be able to shave off an entire day within the night. He wasn't that far ahead.


	17. cattails and curses

A/N: Much gratitude for the love. Agh, surgery in two days! Hopefully I'll be able to continue writing within a few days.

"Time is that quality of nature which keeps events from happenin all at once. Lately it doesn't seem to be working."

-Anonymous

_Very slowly, Sirius _began to stir, but refused to open his eyes. He doubted he even had the energy to do it. His head was throbbing dully, and he felt miserably exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, and sleep for weeks.

The prospect was more than tempting, but something was nagging Sirius at the back of his mind. He wanted to ignore it, but then reality caught up with him.

Sirius opened his eyes, and blearily saw the dark branches of a large tree overhead against a bright blue sky. For several long moments he stared at it before summoning the strength to raise his arm and check the time. For a moment Sirius thought he was misreading the watch; it couldn't have possibly been that late. It claimed it was nearly four in the afternoon, but that would mean Sirius had been out of it for nearly twelve hours.

Rolling over, Sirius saw Harry was helping himself to one of the Argentinian bananas in the rucksack. When he saw that Sirius was awake, he said, "Want some?"

Sirius shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows before managing to sit up. "How long've you been up?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "A while. I thought you might want to sleep, so I didn't wake you."

Sirius rubbed his eyes. He told himself he would have preferred Harry waking him up, but realized he probably would have ended up collapsing anyway had he done so.

"You'll want to hurry," Sirius told him. "We'll be leaving in a minute."

"Don't you want breakfast?"

Sirius shook his head. "Maybe later."

While Harry ate, Sirius packed their few belongings together again and looked around. He knew they weren't far from the Gulf of Kachchh, and debated whether he wanted to travel a few miles south and hope for a passage over the Arabian Sea, or just continue through the Rann of Kutch. The idea of wandering through marshy fields wasn't exactly appealing, but he wasn't sure if it was worth the risk to try and hope for a boat.

Sirius pulled the map of southern Asia back out, and examined it. They were just outside of Gandhidham, fairly close to Anjar. If he went through the mudflats, he could enter through Pakistan and Afghanistan, and go north by way of the southwestern corner of Russia and then move east. If he risked the boat across the Arabian Sea, he would probably end up in Saudi Arabia, and could head toward England through Syria and Turkey, and then into Greece. The later way seemed faster, but it was also more dangerous. Every time he took muggle transportation, the more he risked being recognized, especially the closer he got to Europe.

"So where are we going?" Harry asked, taking a bite of the banana.

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but was suddenly overcome by a fit of coughing. Great, he mused dully.

"We're still going through Pakistan," he replied weakly, stuffing the map back inside the rucksack. "But there are miles of swampland in the way, so we're going as far west as we can, where it's smaller."

"Are you okay?" Harry asked in worried tones, staring at Sirius. "You look really pale."

"I'm fine," Sirius muttered.

"Are you sick?"

"It's just a cold. Come on, we'd better get going," Sirius said, standing up with some difficulty. Harry didn't look convinced, but followed Sirius anyway.

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_It was very _late evening when they finally reached Gandhidham.

"All right," said Frank wearily, looking around the dark train station they had just arrived at. "Black has been heading north ever since he arrived here, so chances are, that's where he's gone again."

"Well, he certainly didn't disapparate," said Taranis, pocketing his wand. "He must have left on foot."

Frank sighed. Even though disapparation put a great deal of distance between the company and Black, it was a much easier trail to follow.

For several hours they walked along the barren roadway that led out of the city and north towards Pakistan, each man vaguely wondering if they were indeed heading the right way. Ever since arriving in Gandhidham, they hadn't come across a single lead, and were only headed north on a hunch that Black had done so as well, given his previous pattern.

"What's that?" Frank said to no one in particular as they came across an object in the roadway.

Stephen pulled out his wand, and shined a large yellow beam of light upon the object in the roadway to reveal an old banana peel. Taranis bent down to examine it, and after a moment, said, "This is only a few hours old. Mid-afternoon, I'd wager."

Frank looked around at the others. "He isn't far, then."

"Roughly half a day," agreed Taranis, looking down the dark road in the distance.

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Most of the _day was spent wandering through hills and barren plains occasionally interrupted by the alien growth of trees. By late evening, the road they were following took a sharp right and seemed to go on for miles. Sirius turned back to the map in the rucksack, and saw that the main road headed towards Patan, well over a hundred miles off from their destination. If he wanted to keep heading north, he would have to cut across the fields and swamps without a road.

Beckoning a wary-looking Harry to follow, Sirius walked past the sign that indicated the city of Bhuj wasn't far off, and began the long journey through the fields.

"Where are we?" Harry asked an hour later, rubbing his eyes.

"We're still in India," answered Sirius, pocketing his hands to keep them warm. It was fairly chilly in this part of India, especially compared to the tropical port they had arrived in days earlier. "But we shouldn't be more than a few days' journey from the border."

"Are we going to walk the entire way?" Harry asked wearily.

Sirius thought the question over. He had debated the idea with himself the entire day, wondering if he could risk apparition. In truth, he had apparated most of the way to Argentina after leaving the Canadian border without getting caught. Harry was getting tired, that was obvious. He himself could barely keep his legs moving.

Deciding he may as well get to the Rann of Kutch before night completely took over, Sirius took hold of Harry's hand and disapparated.

When they reappeared fifty miles north, Sirius lost his balance and fell to his knees.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked the fifth time that day, moving to help Sirius up.

"Fine," Sirius replied for the equal number of times, then added, "Just tired." He staggered up again, wiping the muck off his hands. He looked around, and by light of the steadily darkening sky, could see mile after mile of a flat mixture of murky swamp and dry land. To the right, the sky had already darkened to a deep navy blue, yet the left provided faint traces of lavender.

"Maybe we should rest now," suggested Harry.

"I'm _fine_," Sirius repeated wearily. As he looked behind him, he could see plain fields in the distance without the faintest traces of watery land. They can't have gone very far.

"Are we lost?" Harry asked. Sirius looked down at him, and realized Harry had been watching him.

"No," Sirius replied truthfully. "We're just not as far along as I had meant to go."

"What do you mean?"

"I meant to apparate to the border," Sirius answered. "Only by the looks of things, we're still at the southern end of the marshes." He pulled out the map and examined it. He found the Rann of Kutch, and spotted Bhuj about fifty miles south. That meant he had only apparated half the distance he meant to. "We're right here," he said, pointing to a spot on the map for Harry. "And we were supposed to end here."

"How come it didn't work?" Harry asked. "All the way, I mean."

"Dunno," Sirius answered, when he harbored a fair guess. If his cold, or whatever it was, didn't lighten up soon, then it would affect his ability to perform magic even further. He was just glad they hadn't ended up somewhere completely unexpected, or else been splinched. "Come on. We still have to get to the other side of the marshes."

"You're not going to use magic, then?" Harry asked curiously.

"No," Sirius replied. "When you're tired, or sick, or whatever else, your ability to do magic is severely affected. It probably would be too much to risk it right now."

"Oh," said Harry. Sirius could tell Harry wanted to say more, perhaps persuade him to stop, but he remained silent.

After several moments, Harry asked, "What's Remus like?"

"Remus? He's...a bit of a bookworm, actually. A little quiet, but he can be quite loud when he wants to. He's also very level-headed, but regardless of what he says, he did help come up with some of our better pranks when we were in school. He's a good person."

"He sounds nice," Harry noted.

"He is," agreed Sirius heavily.

There was a pause.

"But he still wouldn't believe you?"

Sirius sighed. "Some things aren't as simple as that. Even if I tried explaining..." Sirius shook his head. "Too much has happened in such a short time. There's no proof, for one thing."

Harry hesitated, then asked, "But do I really have—"

"Yes," said Sirius in a tone that implied the discussion was over.

Several hours later, and well into the marshes, a faint snapping sound followed by a peculiar light emerged on their far right. Sirius and Harry slowed to watch it as they trudged along.

"What is that?" Harry asked, staring at the light.

"I don't know," Sirius said, frowning slightly. Was it a building? He hadn't expected a city to be all the way out here.

He stopped walking, and felt Harry do the same next to him. The light was flickering out of place several times. However, it was too far off in the distance for Sirius to tell if it was just a bad light, or if it was moving.

"You don't think someone's out here, do you?" Harry whispered, voicing Sirius' thoughts.

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"_There is no _sign of him anywhere, Minister," said Crouch stiffly late one evening, having just returned from Argentina. "The muggle witness has been interrogated a thousand times over, but we have achieved no new information, nor any idea where Black disappeared to."

"But he did disapparate?" Fudge asked.

"He did," confirmed Crouch. "However, when we traced it, there was no visible destination to be had. Three ships left the port that morning; two to Japan and the other to India. Our best guess for Black's sudden disappearance was that he disapparated onto one of the departing ships and traveled undetected to the other side of the world."

Fudge sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Our plan now is to dispatch Aurors to the three ports and hope for a trail that may lead us to Black."

"What about Harry Potter?" Fudge asked, lowering his hands and looking up at Crouch from his desk. "Is he still alive?"

"He was when Black left Argentina, according to the witness," answered Crouch. "It seems unlikely now that Black is going to simply kill him outright. It appears as though he is using Potter as protection. If we were to capture him, Black seems to think he can barter off Potter in another attempt at escape."

"Does the witness know of Potter's health? What sort of condition he's in?"

Crouch pursed his lips before replying. "She said the boy appeared to be in good health, as far as she could determine. Not only that..." Crouch's voice trailed off as a stony look came to his face.

"What?" Fudge pressed.

Crouch cleared his throat. "The witness said Potter appeared to embrace Black like family. He seemed neither frightened nor wary of Black's company."

Fudge looked deeply distressed at this news.

"It is only to be expected," Crouch continued in a hard voice. "Considering Potter had the misfortune to grow up with Black; therefore he's the only idea of 'family' he has ever known."

Fudge looked anything but calm at the thought that Harry Potter considered his parents' murderer family. Sighing, he said, "When are the Aurors to be dispatched?"

"They are leaving within the hour," said Crouch, checking his watch.

"All right," muttered Fudge, staring into his fireplace, looking distracted.

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Another day passed _uneventfully for the company. The previous evening they came across faint a trail of footsteps leading off the road and through the dry fields, heading perfectly north. Delighted by this turn of events, the four quickly pursued the trail, examined carefully by Taranis and Stephen every few meters.

"They seem to be heading for the swamps," noted Frank the following morning, examining a map he had purchased when at the train station.

Victor looked over his shoulder, frowning. "The Rann of Kutch?"

Frank nodded.

"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully, looking across the distant grassland.

By late afternoon, the trail stopped suddenly.

"He must have disapparated," said Taranis in a stony voice, pulling out his wand to be sure.

"You don't reckon he's caught on, do you?" Stephen said, rubbing a hand on the back of his head wearily.

"It doesn't seem so," answered Victor. "Otherwise he probably would have tried to make a portkey to the Galapagos by now."

"He was heading for the Rann of Kutch," said Frank. "It's possible he went there."

"True," said Taranis, stowing his wand away. "But that's about fifty miles off from here. It seems more likely that he would disapparate to the other side. I guess he got tired of walking."

"So what's the plan? Keep walking, or apparate to the Rann and hope we pick up the trail again?"

They thought about it for several moments before Stephen said, "I reckon we should keep walking, just to be sure. If we don't find anything by nightfall, then I say apparate to the Rann."

"We could be giving Black hours, though," Victor pointed out.

"Better than overlooking the trail entirely," countered his brother.

"All right, we'll keep heading the way we have for a few more hours, and if there's nothing, we'll head to the Rann. Agreed?"

There was a murmur of understanding at this.

When the sky began to darken, Victor said aloud, "There's nothing here."

Taranis sighed, and pulled out his wand. "I suggest the southern side of the Rann, and we can work our way north. Most likely Black did apparate to the northern end, but it's always better to be sure."

A moment later, the four men appeared with an echoing _pop _at the foot of the marshes.

"Ugh, disgusting," muttered Victor, dislodging his foot from a murky pothole.

The others quietly scanned the horizon.

"It's too dark to see more than fifty feet," said Frank in a low voice as he pulled out his wand. "_Lumos Maximus._"

His wand tip greatly illuminated the marshy fields as they peered through the dim. Taranis pulled out his own wand, and muttered the spell that would reveal the traces of apparition and disapparation.

In the distance, a tiny orange glow appeared moments before fading.

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Sirius and Harry _stared at the light for a moment longer before a thrill of horror took hold of Sirius. Just as he was about to curse aloud, a bright orange cloud appeared several meters behind them. Harry turned to stare at it in confusion while Sirius reacted on his reflexes immediately.

"_Deletrius_!" he said in a panicked whisper, aiming his wand at the cloud. It disappeared immediately. Sirius wasted no time in grabbing Harry, and took off running.

In the distance, he heard a loud popping sound, and knew that whoever managed to trail him was seconds away from finding them. Without a second thought, Sirius disapparated.

Sirius and Harry reappeared a second later, barely a mile away. Exhausted from the already severely-weakened magic, Sirius continued running, now deep in the marshy

"_Deletrius_!" He aimed the spell over his shoulder, but not before the faintest of orange glimmers managed to make itself seen. Sirius cursed weakly and ploughed on, a frightened Harry clinging tightly to his shoulders. Sirius disapparated once more, but this time, barely made it more than fifty meters.

Collapsing with exhaustion on the damp island of land amidst the water, Sirius deleted his apparition vestige before he rolled over completely. He turned to Harry quickly, motioning for him to keep quiet and very still, but there was no need. Harry was as silent and still as a rock as he peered fearfully at him in the darkness.

Sirius stealthily slid around the little mound of earth and into the murky foot-deep water, peering through the cattails. He obviously couldn't disapparate, let alone without being followed. That left staying as quiet as possible, hidden away, and hoping against all odds that he would be overlooked.

After a moment, Sirius could see four black figures moving stealthily through the marsh, wands out and clearly alert for any sign of movement or noise. Slowly and surely, they began to approach the space where Sirius and Harry were hidden. Sirius' heart began to race, and he carefully fixed his grip on his wand beneath him. As quietly as possible, he adjusted his position slightly so that the wand tip was pointing between two large stems, directly at the approaching company. As soon as they took ten steps, they would be within perfect range for Sirius to attack.

A few steps closer...only seven now...four...two...

Sirius tightened his grip, heart beating furiously against his chest as he waited for the last footfall. Just as he was preparing to fire a horde of spells that were fighting in his mind to be yelled first, the closest man suddenly turned to the right, and the others followed, walking away. Sirius was very careful not to let out a sigh of relief as he concentrated his gaze on their retreating backs.

Just when Sirius thought they would safely be heading in the wrong direction, a jet of red light suddenly shot his way. Sirius ducked down, feeling his dampened hair ruffle as the curse missed him by inches. He prayed Harry wouldn't cry out.

Sirius was expecting a horde of attacks to come his way, but there was a peculiar silence. Very slowly, he moved his head up just enough to see the four still figures in the distance, apparently silently arguing over where he was. The shortest took a step back, and began slowly heading back, right where Sirius and Harry were crouching.

Hoping not to give his hiding place away, Sirius aimed his wand to his far right at a particularly large body of water, concentrating with all his might. Wordlessly, a large splash erupted on the still surface, and the men reacted instantly, firing a number of spells spot on.

Disheartened by their accuracy and determination, Sirius' mind worked furiously to come up with a plan to get them out of there. Disapparation was obviously not a choice, but Sirius could attempt a Portkey. He knew there was no way on earth he could hope to create one with wordless magic, and hoped that he would have time enough to escape before they were attacked. It seemed a slim chance. He would have to distract them first.

Strangely inspired by his mishaps from school, Sirius took aim at the nearest attacker. "_Muffliato_!" he whispered as quietly as possible. The man whipped around, firing a spell out of reflex, which narrowly missed one of his comrades. The man looked like he wanted to hit him, and Sirius took advantage of their briefly dropped guard. "_Langlock!" _

He had to roll over and duck, accidentally crashing into a crouching Harry, to avoid being hit by several curses sent his way.

"_Impedimenta_!" he shouted, moving away from Harry as fast as possible to keep attention solely on him. "_Muffliato_!"

A spell hit Sirius squarely in the chest and knocked him back with such force the wind was knocked out of him. Ignoring his own plight, he aimed his wand at Harry best he could and conjured a Shield Charm around him. That way he would be protected from most jinxes that happened across his path.

Fighting for breath, Sirius aimed his wand at his only unharmed attacker, and gasped, "_Locomotor Mortis_!"

The man immediately fell over and disappeared from sight. A flash of light was aimed at Sirius, and he barely managed to roll out of its way. Sirius aimed his wand at his newest attacker, and a moment later, the man was dangling in the air by his ankle.

A second spell hit Sirius in the arm, and a sharp pain shot up his elbow, causing him to drop his wand. Without waiting to see what would happen next, Sirius rolled away blindly, landing in a large pool of murky water with a splash. A jet of light hit the spot he had been lying seconds before, and a small explosion caused water, earth, and cattails to burst in the air.

Now relying on his shaky grasp of wandless magic, Sirius concentrated as best he could on the spell _Lumos _so that he had a hope of finding his wand, while avoiding the relentless attacks coming his way from all directions.

Moments later, a dim yellow light shone from beneath the surface of the thick water. Sirius dove for it, plunging his hand in the water as his momentum accidentally carried him in a somersault.

Spells were being fired blindly from all directions, and a loud _thump _signaled the end of the _Levicorpus _charm Sirius had cast earlier. The once dark marshes were now illuminated by bright flashes of color and light.

"_Stupefy! Impedimenta!_" Sirius shouted, firing at dark shadows he could only guess were his attackers in the haze. For a third time, another spell made contact with Sirius, although this one merely knocked him off his feet. Sirius took aim seconds after landing roughly on his back, and a moment later, Bat Bogeys were surrounding the attacker.

In the brief second of calm, Sirius grabbed a particularly large cattail at random and looked blindly for Harry, apparently still hiding in the water. Barely after muttering "_Portus", _a heavy object collided with Sirius, knocking him painfully flat on his back once more. It was the man currently being attacked by the Bat Bogey Hex.

Sirius wrestled with him in a rather muggle fashion, trying to throw him off. He almost succeeded when a sharp pain exploded in his side. Sirius let out a grunt of pain as he sent the attacker backwards with a skillfully placed "_Relashio!" _

Staggering sideways slightly from the dull throb in his side, Sirius called out "Harry?"

Dual jets of red light came his way, and Sirius ducked, running as best he could in an entirely new direction. As he went, he dimly heard a small voice dry out amongst all the chaos. Sirius tried to stop, and ended up tripping in an unseen pothole. Crouching right next to him was a frightened Harry.

Sirius immediately grabbed Harry's forearm, aimed his wand in the distance, and cried, "_Accio Portkey!" _

As the soggy cattail flew their way, so did three curses.


	18. the monastery

A/N: At the moment, I utterly, absolutely, completely despise my suicidal internet connection. As for this chapter, it's a little short in comparison to the others, but I imagine that's better than not seeing it at all.

"But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth."  
-Umberto Eco

_For a moment, _time seemed to freeze. Sirius' hand was outstretched to catch the speeding cattail, but his eyes were transfixed on the jets of light headed right for them. Then, bare milliseconds before the curses could strike their target, Sirius felt the soggy cattail head hit his palm, followed by a familiar jerk from behind his navel.

Moments later, Sirius and Harry toppled onto a cobbled street, hundreds of miles away. Sirius let go of the Portkey and Harry, rolling over stiffly to get a better view of the cattail. He aimed his wand at it shakily, and set fire to the Portkey. Though he was certain his attackers would still find a way to trace it, this would delay them several days.

Sirius tried to get up, but a fresh wave of pain shot through his right side now that his fear was ebbing away. He groaned, lying motionless on the pavement. He looked for the source of the dull pain in his abdomen blindly, and felt nothing but the wetness of his clothes. Drawing his hand away, peering roughly through hazy vision, Sirius saw deep scarlet on his hand and fingertips. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling rather dizzy. He thought he heard Harry say something, and opened them again.

The sky was no longer there, nor was the Renaissance architecture. Everything disappeared in a swirl of deep murky blues and grays before darkness took hold.

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Harry began to _panic, far worse than he had while trying to remain hidden in the swamp only moments before. Sirius' arm fell limp next to him, and his head drooped to the side slightly as his eyes closed once more.

"Sirius!" he shouted, trying to shake him awake, although careful not to touch the profusely bleeding wound. Tears began to cloud his vision. "Sirius! Sirius, wake up!"

There was no response. Through his panic, Harry's mind drifted to the accident back in Argentina. Sirius had merely been unconscious; sleeping, really. That's all he was doing now. As long as Harry didn't run off this time, he would wake up any moment now and they would continue on their way to England.

Harry glanced fearfully at the blood seeping into Sirius' damp jacket and swallowed. Tiny droplets of rain began to fall from the sky, but Harry didn't notice. Nor did he think this would be the same as it was in Argentina.

As this thought surfaced, the tears fell rapidly down his cheeks. "Wake up!" He cried, collapsing in sobs on Sirius' limp shoulder. "Wake up! Wake up..." Harry's voice gave way to anguish as he cried even harder.

For several moments, Harry simply lay there, overcome with misery and fear. Finally, shock ebbed away to be replaced by anxiety.

Harry turned around in a panic, the drizzling rain now falling freely. Frightened, Harry started forward uncertainly. He had to find some help before Sirius died. As this thought occurred to him, Harry hesitated. He ran back to the motionless Sirius and checked for a pulse, a trick he learned from watching Scooby Doo. After several still seconds, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Getting back to his feet, Harry hurried down the cobbled street looking for someone—anyone—to help. He passed several dark buildings before he finally spotted a cloaked woman emerging from a set of double doors. Harry paused, taken aback by the sudden appearance of potential aid. Regaining a grip on himself, he ran over to the woman, crying for help.

The nun jumped in surprise, whipping around, clearly shocked to see a soaking, muddy little boy running towards her and screaming for help.

Panicked words fought with each other to be uttered first as Harry tried to explain what had happened. The nun held up a hand and spoke to him, but unfortunately, it wasn't in English.

"_Uzgunum, anlamadim_."

Having no idea what she was saying, and not knowing what to do, Harry grabbed her hand and briskly led her down the wet cobbled street towards Sirius.

The nun uttered more foreign protests, but allowed Harry to lead her down the road nonetheless. When she spotted Sirius lying in the middle of the street, she unceremoniously gathered her flowing skirts and ran forward. She quickly checked Sirius over, and when she found the wound, she turned to Harry and demanded something Harry didn't understand.

Tears flowing once more, Harry wailed, "I don't know! I don't know!"

The nun motioned for him to stay by Sirius as she got to her feet and ran back to the monastery. Harry stared after her, slightly confused at what she was doing. A moment later, she reappeared, followed by two similarly-cloaked men.

"What happen?" the nearest asked Harry roughly, a thick accent audible.

"We were attacked," Harry cried, relieved to know one of them spoke English. "He was trying to protect me, and then one of the men hurt him, and then we ended up here, and that's when I found out he was bleeding, so I went to get help, but—"

"_Slower_, please," the man said, holding up a hand while the others pressed a wad of cloth against the injury.

"I don't know what happened, but I'm scared he's going to die," Harry whispered fearfully, staring at Sirius through his tears. The English-speaking monk motioned to the others, and they all carried the soaking, limp figure back to the monastery. Harry followed, torn between fear and relief.

Under better circumstances, Harry would have been taken by the Gothic architecture of the building. Though it was designed with simplicity, the flying buttresses and the huge rose window still vied for attention. However, Harry barely took in the simple grandeur of the monastery as he was led through the foyer, several adjoining passageways lit by oil lamps, and finally into a back room with a single bed and an ancient painting on the opposite wall.

Sirius was immediately laid down, and his jacket, sweater and tee shirt, all soaking, were carefully removed. Not knowing what to do, Harry merely stood fearfully in the corner of the stone room, watching.

The nun directed one of the monks—the one who didn't speak English—to fetch something. The balding man left the room in a hurry, and returned a moment later with a large basin of water and a small sack whose ties were wrapped around his wrist. He quickly unraveled the bag and handed it over while the English-speaking monk soaked a small cloth in the water and squeezed the excess out.

Turning to Harry, he said, "You want to wait in another room?"

Unsticking his throat, Harry replied, "Can I wait here?"

The man half-shrugged, half-nodded before turning back around.

For how long Harry stood watching the strangers clean, sew, and bandage the wound, he didn't know. When they were finished, the nun looked Sirius over while the balding monk left the room, basin in hand. The English-speaking man turned to Harry. "He is lucky; the wound did not puncture any organs. You say he was attacked?"

Harry nodded.

"By who?"

"I don't know," Harry answered. "It was too dark to see, but it looked like four men." In truth, Harry had a good idea when it came to who their attackers were, but figured it would be best to keep his mouth shut about it. At least for now. "I didn't know until he passed out in the street."

The nun spoke something to the monk, who turned to her. He replied back before turning to face Harry once more. "She says he lost blood, but he will live." Harry breathed an enormous sigh of relief. "She says to ask if he was sick also?"

Harry nodded. "For about two weeks."

The monk turned back to the nun and answered. The nun nodded with comprehension and added a lengthy statement before gazing pitifully at Harry and leaving the room.

"She says maybe pneumonia," the monk translated. "He will need much bed rest."

Harry nodded, not even considering the possibility of refusing, trying to explain that they needed to get to England as soon as possible. Nor did he bring up the fact that there were four men bent on ending their lives currently searching for them.

"You can sleep here," the monk continued, leading Harry to the room across the narrow corridor. Again, there was a single bed and an ancient oil painting on the wall. "There is a toilet bowl under the bed. I show you bathroom tomorrow." With that, the monk left the room, gently closing the thick wooden door behind him. "_Iyi geceler_."

Harry stood by the bed, staring at the inside of the door, suddenly exhausted but unable to sleep. He sat down on the bed's edge, staring into space for several long minutes. He stood up again suddenly, and quietly opened his door a few inches to stare across the dim corridor at Sirius'. He stayed like that for most of the night.

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Frank sat at _his desk, staring blankly at the cubicle wall across from him, leaning back in the chair. Memos zoomed around overhead and voices filled the cavernous room. Frank ignored it all, the same as he tried to ignore the empty cubicle across from him.

He had returned the night before, after several threats about the potential loss of his job. While he wasn't fired, he wasn't exactly in the Minister's, nor Crouch's, highest esteem, either.

The night had been spent in bitterness for a double loss. Not only was Black's narrow escape enough of a blow, but Victor had apparently been knocked unconscious, and, unseen by the others, drowned in the marshes. After a lengthy debate, the Ministry had been notified, though many of the details remained unspoken.

The story the others came up with was to inform the Ministry that they were vacationing in India at the time, and had caught word that Black was in the country. Not thinking clearly enough, nor wanting to send the Ministry on a wild goose chase, the four of them decided to investigate the matter themselves. That was when they ran into Black and Potter in the Rann, and Victor unknowingly died.

This was a good enough story for the Minister, who seemed rather flustered over the entire ordeal. While he was rather relieved at the new lead on Black, he was still upset over the entire fiasco and eventual loss.

Frank purposely didn't look at his copy of the _Daily Prophet _that morning, nor did he feel like explaining to his embittered, albeit relieved, wife about the ordeal. He was sure it would be all over the papers at some point or other. While he had been told by several unknowing coworkers of the new lead on Black being in the _Prophet, _it didn't seem his name, nor those of the others save Victor, had been dragged into it just yet.

The Aurors and several Hit Wizards were currently combing the area near northwestern India and southern Pakistan, despite the knowledge Black disappeared using a Portkey. After several failed attempts to trace it directly, Crouch and the others knew Black must have destroyed it after disappearing. It was still possible to trace the faint imprint of magic left over, a sort of ghostly trail, but it could take weeks at best. Black could have disappeared to anywhere by then.

They were going to have their work cut out for them.

Frank half considered resigning, mostly because he couldn't bear the empty cubicle across the hall from his. He had been told the night before he could clear out his desk if he didn't show up for work; at the present moment, the idea was sorely tempting.

While it was impossible to tell who fired the stunner that eventually resulted in Victor's death, Frank had his own accusations. While he couldn't know for certain if it was Black's spell or not, he knew that the entire ordeal would never have happened if it weren't for Black in the first place. The minor details excluded, it was entirely because of Black that Victor was dead.

Not only was Frank avoiding the _Daily Prophet _and many of his coworkers, but he was avoiding Edna Lively most of all. After all, she was the one who supplied them with the Portkey to India in the first place. She seemed to be doing some brooding of her own, however, because she hadn't yet sent a memo requesting to see Frank.

He wasn't sure if he felt guilty or grateful. Perhaps a little of both.

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Remus_ _set down _the paper, sighing heavily. Once more, articles about Sirius Black completely took over the front section of the paper. While most spoke of the new lead in some place called the _Rann of Kutch _in northwestern India, the others discussed the untimely death of a man named Victor Sullivan. While the cause of his death was deduced as drowning as a result from an apparent stunner, the journalists seemed to be having a field day. Almost every article directed the blame toward Sirius Black.

Remus didn't know what to make of it all. Though he knew every time Sirius' name ended up in the papers, it usually involved a new lead, but it would always come as a peculiar blow to him. He wasn't completely sure why, which made it even worse.

As if word of the new lead wasn't strange enough to him, the rumors circulating that another name had been added to Sirius Black's list of murdered victims only complicated matters.

_Why did it have to come to this?_

Remus took a drink from his mug of tea as Albus Dumbledore appeared in his fireplace, right on time.

"Ah, I see you've heard," he said rather gravely, spotting the paper on the table. He strolled through the entryway and into the kitchen, where he helped himself to a mug of tea. Joining Remus at the table, he continued, "I take it you've read all the articles?"

"Most of them," he answered dully.

"Well," said Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair slightly. "Fudge has informed me of the more..._peculiar _details of the confrontation, as told by the three survivors."

"Oh?"

"Harry Potter is still alive. This fact seems to be providing evidence to the theory that Black is using Harry as leverage should he be caught. Then again, this is just a theory."

"I take it there was too much chaos to be able to tell much of his condition?" Remus asked dully.

"Indeed," replied Dumbledore, taking a sip. "Yet, by the looks of it, Harry didn't seem eager to leave."

Remus stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"During the inquiry, we discovered that Harry remained intentionally hidden during the entirety of the confrontation. While no one can be sure, this seems to imply Harry is physically and, as can be assumed, mentally well off. While no one knows of his thoughts, naturally, he didn't appear to be in a state to warrant a desired escape from Black."

"Great," Remus sighed, leaning back in his chair. He had no idea if this news was good or bad. Perhaps both.

"On a related matter," Dumbledore added, setting his mug down. "It did not appear as though Black attempted to kill or severely harm his adversaries. None of the three men were able to recall a definite Unforgivable Curse fired on Black's part. While this doesn't provide much for us, it does bring up an interesting question._ Why_?"

Remus stared at him.

"He proved four years ago he had no problem killing those who got in his way of escape. Yet when the matter was more urgent in a way, he didn't so much as curse his attackers." Dumbledore paused, then said, "Between the two of us, you knew him best."

Remus shrugged. "I thought I did. I don't know what to make of it. I couldn't tell you why, either. He's far too different from what I thought he was. He's...been rather surprisingsince we left school. Everything he's done since he escaped has made me question his motives, considering...

"I don't know what to tell you," he finished, half-shrugging.

"The belief at the Ministry—a little far-fetched, mind you—is that Black has planted some story into Harry's mind. The theory is that Black made it out to appear as though the good guy, bad guy roles were switched. In order to keep this image going, he couldn't harm his adversaries should they be found.

"Of course, I myself haven't been able to come up with a reason as to why Black would bother with such a thing. Then again, I've wondered this about many of his actions." He paused, watching Remus for several silent minutes. Then he asked softly, "Do you still wish for me to keep you informed of these matters?"

"Yes," answered Lupin automatically. Even as he said it, he realized he wasn't so sure. He didn't mention this to Dumbledore, however.

Dumbledore sighed slightly as he stood up. "Very well," he said, nodding once. "I shall be in touch soon."

With that, Dumbledore disappeared from the tiny kitchen.

Remus sighed, staring at his half-empty mug of tea, currently forming a small, wet ring on the cover of the newspaper.

In truth, he was a little glad that Harry wasn't in a state to make him terrified of Sirius. That meant, despite the man's betrayal and murderous tendencies, he was at least taking care of the boy. But Remus was also furious about it, because that would mean two things: either he was trying to get Harry on his side for some mad scheme against the Ministry, or he was curious about the ongoing rumors.

Weeks after Voldemort fell, word got around that perhaps the reason why he wanted Harry dead, and an explanation for why Harry not only lived, but brought Voldemort down, was because Harry had the potential to be the next great Dark wizard. While Remus thought this inane, many people were putting their money on it.

By the looks of it, that seemed the more likely case. Many of the Death Eaters, from what Remus could tell through the final Order meetings several years before, were actually curious as to whether there was any truth to the rumors of Harry's being a Dark wizard. Some even seemed to think that perhaps when Harry grew up, they would have another, more powerful, Dark Lord to follow.

If by a mad chance this were at all true, Sirius Black would be held in the highest esteem for caring for Harry. If it were true, not only would he help bring another Dark wizard into the world, but he would be setting himself up in the next highest position possible.

Remus slammed his fist on the table, causing it to tremble and his tea to slosh in its mug.


	19. the tea kettle

A/N: Again, this one is a little bit shorter compared to the others. Enjoy.

"Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there is a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see."

-Helen Keller

_Early the next_ morning, the English-speaking monk came to the door. Harry woke suddenly at the sound of knocking, rolling over on the simple bed groggily. The monk entered the room, and said, "Breakfast is being had in the dining hall. Are you hungry?"

Barely fully awake, Harry nodded and slipped off the bed. As he followed the monk, he stared at the door that hid Sirius from view. He didn't look away until they rounded a corner, and it disappeared from sight.

Now that he was calmer with the knowledge that Sirius would live, Harry examined the building as they walked through its halls. While the monastery was built with a simple design and few details, the architecture still held Harry's attention.

The monk led Harry out a back door and through a dew-covered courtyard, rainwater still fresh from the night before. Vegetables grew in large patches along the walls and benches while a small pond took up the middle. Harry followed the monk past these attractions and into a new hall, where several other monks and nuns sat silently, eating their simple breakfast.

"You can sit here," the monk said, gesturing to a seat at a long wooden table. "Food I will bring for you."

Harry sat down on the cool wooden bench, looking around the dining hall. He noticed not one person was talking; everyone's attention was focused upon their own meal.

A moment later, the monk returned with a cup of water and a ceramic bowl of plain rice and fresh vegetables.

"Ayla is tending to the man you are with," he said, setting the food down on the table. Then he added, "She is the woman you saw last night."

"Thank you," Harry mumbled. "My name is Adam," he added with no real idea why.

The monk smiled at him nonetheless. "Selim," he supplied, nodding once.

He turned to leave, but then Harry asked, "Where are we?"

The man paused, turning. "Pardon?" he asked, not quite understanding the question.

"What city is this?" Harry said.

"Safranbolu," the man answered. Seeing the blank look on Harry's face, he added, "Turkey."

Harry smiled and nodded in thanks before turning back to his breakfast. He had no idea where Turkey was, but he imagined they were closer to England than before. Harry picked up his fork, and realized he was a little grateful for this delay, with the obvious exception of Sirius' injury. This meant it would take longer than planned to get to England; longer than planned until Harry had to say goodbye to Sirius for quite some time.

_

* * *

All afternoon, Harry tried bartering with the monks and nuns to let him in to see Sirius, but none would oblige._

"Maybe tomorrow," Salim said late that afternoon as he headed toward his own private chambers for his daily solitary prayers. "He needs to rest. You want him to get well, yes?"

"Yes, but..." Harry paused, trying to think up a viable excuse. "If I can't talk to him, can I at least _see _him?"

"Tomorrow," Salim repeated firmly, opening the door to his room. As if sensing Harry's plans, he added, "And do not try sneaking into his room."

With that, Salim shut the door, leaving an embittered Harry in the dim corridor. Harry turned to look at the end of the hall, where gray daylight illuminated the open windows.

Kicking at stray pebbles, Harry headed slowly to the courtyard. He practically had the entire grounds to himself, as all the monks and nuns were hidden away in their private rooms for their afternoon prayers. As Harry wandered the courtyard aimlessly, he spotted cattails growing out of the pond. For a moment he stared at them blankly, then plucked one from its watery post and half-swept, half-whacked at loose dirt and leaves on the cracked pavement.

Harry felt angry with himself that he was thankful for the unexpected delay in their plans. He felt immensely terrible that Sirius was injured; however, he also felt an equal amount of relief with the knowledge that he would have more time with him.

More time to come up with a plan to stay with Sirius.

Harry had been thinking it over ever since they left the sea port days before, but nothing came to mind. The best he could come up with was pretending to allow himself to be dumped at Remus' place, then somehow sneaking out and finding Sirius when he was already too far to take Harry back to England.

He didn't see how this could possibly work, however.

The other idea would be to convince Remus to let Sirius stay with them. He wasn't sure how difficult it would be; he would have to realize Sirius was innocent and forgive him first. And he knew adults weren't keen on the forgiveness part.

Harry whacked at a fly at sank onto a stone bench near the pond's perimeter, sighing. The latter plan would be his best bet, although he wasn't sure how he would pull it off. Not only would he have to somehow prove to Remus Sirius was innocent, but he would also have to convince Sirius to stay. He knew that even if by the off chance Remus did realize his mistake and so on, Sirius would refuse to stay.

He needed to come up with a plan to persuade him as well.

Adults were so difficult.

Harry absentmindedly tossed the dusty cattail into the pond behind him, staring at it floating on the dark, reflective surface. Remus would be incredibly difficult, though he still remained an easier task than Sirius. How was he going to persuade him to stay? He was pretty sure begging and pleading wouldn't do the trick; what if he threatened him? Harry paused at the thought with a frown, thinking it over. What on earth would he threaten him with that would cause him to stay?

Somehow he doubted whether persuading the monks to feed him nothing but steamed prunes would do the trick. What if he threatened to run away? No, that wouldn't work; Sirius would know Harry wouldn't really do any such thing, especially after their fiasco in Argentina.

He would have to come up with something that would really get to Sirius. Something that would gnaw at him so much he couldn't possibly refuse Harry.

But what?

_

* * *

Remus was about to leave for work in Diagon Alley when a knock came at his door. Taken aback slightly, Remus went to go answer it. No one ever knocked on his door; he lived way out in the country. He was actually rather surprised the post man managed to find his house at all._

Standing in the doorway was a muggle delivery man with a reasonable-sized package under one arm, and a clipboard in the other.

"Delivery for Mr. Lupin?"

"Yes," said Remus, now really confused. The only people he knew that would ever bother sending him anything did it with owl post.

"Need you to sign here," he said, holding out the clipboard. Remus took the pen the man handed him and signed his name. The post man handed him his package. "Have a good day."

"You too," Remus muttered, staring at the box as he closed the door. There was no return address, but the shipping stamps read _Brazil_ next to the usual _England _postage. He didn't know anyone who would send him muggle mail, let alone anyone in Brazil.

Remus set the package on his kitchen table, and stared at it for a moment before he cut the tape with his wand, and opened the box.

Crammed between packing peanuts and wads of newspaper, Remus unearthed a brand-new, rather expensive-looking tea kettle. He almost dropped it.

Remus was in such shock he would have cursed if he could. He turned away after roughly setting the kettle on the table with a loud _clang _and ran his hands through his hair.

The box didn't need a return address for Remus to know exactly who sent it to him.

With half a mind to destroy it on the spot, Remus left his kitchen and went to work. Anything to get away from the tea kettle.

_

* * *

Over a week passed until Harry was allowed to visit Sirius whenever he liked. While Sirius was pleased with the company and the knowledge that Harry was safe, Harry couldn't help but notice how nerve-wracked and skittish he was, especially around the nuns and monks._

"Salim said you're healing pretty fast," Harry told him, sitting at the foot of Sirius' bed with an apple in hand.

"Who's Salim?" Sirius asked in a hoarse whisper. While his injury was healing, the pneumonia didn't seem to want to let up.

"He's the monk who speaks English," Harry answered, taking a bite of his apple. Sirius nodded in understanding.

Harry paused, then continued warily, "When do you think we're leaving?"

Sirius sighed and rubbed a hand across his face before answering. "I don't know. The sooner the better. You said we're in Turkey?"

Harry nodded.

"Good," Sirius mumbled, closing his eyes.

"Is that where you meant to go, with the Portey, or whatever it's called?"

"Yes," Sirius answered, not opening his eyes. "I was worried that it didn't work very well, and we were still in Afghanistan or some such country."

Harry stared at the stone floor to his left. He half wished they were in Afghanistan instead, only because it meant a much greater distance between them and England.

He still hadn't come up with a plan to persuade Sirius to stay.

"What's the date?" Sirius asked weakly.

"December twelfth," Harry replied. He had asked Salim the very same question only that morning.

A month. Nearly a month had passed since they fled from New York City. Harry could scarcely believe it was really that long ago.

Sirius sighed; Harry turned to look at him. "We'll have to be leaving soon. By the end of the week at least."

Harry stared at him. "But you're hurt."

"Wizards heal fast," Sirius lied.

"You're sick," Harry reminded him, eyebrows raised.

"Which is why we didn't leave two days ago," Sirius muttered.

"You'll pop all your stitches out," Harry warned him. He knew this to be true; Ayla had told him so, her words translated by Salim. She wanted him to make sure Sirius didn't try walking around for a while. "What's so bad about resting here for awhile? They're taking care of us."

"I know," Sirius answered. "But I would rather leave sooner than later if it meant they wouldn't find out who we are while we were still here. That would be more of a disaster than the night in the swamp." Sirius paused as a coughing spell took hold. Harry waited patiently, a worried and slightly pitied look on his face. "It's not that I'm trying to bring you as fast as possible," Sirius continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm actually very surprised we've lasted here as long as we have. It's too much to risk."

"If we leave so quickly again, you're only going to get worse," Harry whispered.

"We won't have to leave as quickly as we did before," Sirius told him. "I doubt I could if I wanted to. We'll go slower. It's just that we can't be around other people. No one can know where we are, even if they don't know who we are."

Harry cast his eyes down, sighing. He was running out of reasons. "What if you're not better by then?"

"I will be."

"How do you know?"

Sirius didn't answer. Harry sighed as he slipped off the bed and left the room.

_

* * *

That evening, Harry was returning from the dining hall after dinner to his room when he saw Ayla and an unfamiliar nun rush into Sirius' room. Harry paused, feeling his heart rate increase. He was about to race into Sirius' room himself when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned in surprise suddenly to see Salim._

"Rest is not enough," he told him gravely, glancing towards the door. "We have called for antibiotics."

Harry stared at him, fear welling inside. "Will he be okay?"

"When the medicine gets here," he assured him, leaving his side to join Ayla and the other nun. Harry stood stock still, staring after him. Regaining a grip on his limps, Harry stumbled forward until he was standing in the doorway.

Sirius looked terrible. His face was ghostly pale, accentuated by china blue veins. His shallow breathing came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the effort. He simply lay upon the bed, unmoving, as though he had been dropped.

Harry was terrified.

Salim noticed Harry was in the doorway, and sighed sadly. It was too late to usher him out in hopes that he wouldn't see.

"He will be fine," Salim told Harry firmly. "He just needs medicine, and it is on the way. Don't worry."

Harry tried to take comfort in Salim's words, but Sirius' state threw it all off. He looked like he was dying.

_

* * *

When the boy was finally told to retire to his room, Ayla turned to Salim and said softly in Turkish, "He's coughing less and less. The fluid is building up in his lungs."_

Salim sighed, rubbing a hand over his short crop of hair. "I told the boy he would live."

"He may," Ayla said gravely. "We won't know until the medicine takes effect." She uncapped a needle, and gently shook a small vial of clear liquid. Piercing the lid with the needle, she tipped the bottle upside down and filled the syringe. Turning back to the man, she quickly swabbed his inner elbow and injected the antibiotic. "And that could take hours before we see any effect. Days, even."

Salim stared gravely at the man's gaunt face. Unless he was imagining it, the breathing was becoming quieter, more shallow than before. The man must be dying, he realized dully.

Ayla glanced at him as though Salim had spoken his thoughts aloud.

"How is his injury?" Salim asked in a flat voice.

"It's healing," Ayla responded, packing the medicine away. "I was expecting to warn him not to walk around for awhile; he would rip out the stitches. But now we have more pressing matters to take care of." She sighed. "We'll need to administer the antibiotics every few hours."

"For how long?"

Ayla shrugged. "Until he's well enough," she said. She didn't mention the other potential outcome aloud. "That could take a while. Maybe even weeks. It's hard to say. It looks as though he's been ill for quite some time. I was actually amazed he could still walk among other things."

She paused, then added, "Have either of them explained to you what had happened?"

"The boy said they were attacked," answered Salim. "Though he never did say by whom. I ignored it at the time, considering he was in such a panic. I had, however, rather expected him to bring it up. You'd think when someone was trying to murder you by the looks of it, one would mention something."

"I still find it strange," Ayla responded, leading Salim out of the room and gently closing the door behind her. "It looks as though they were both in a rather violent scuffle; the young man especially, considering his injury. But I was in the garden the entire evening when they showed up, and I didn't hear a thing."

"Maybe it was farther off," Salim suggested. "And they ended up here searching for help."

"Perhaps," Ayla agreed. "I still find the entire situation very strange, though."

"I know," said Salim. "I do as well. But there's no real point in talking to the boy. He's in too much of a state what with his companion."

"They don't look like they're from around here," Ayla continued. "They don't know a word of Turkish for one, and by the looks of it, the boy only speaks English. I never found out about the man."

"Maybe they're foreign," said Salim, shrugging. "They probably ran into trouble; I doubt the lack of being able to communicate helped matters."

"Perhaps."

_

* * *

Remus returned home very late that night on purpose. He had deliberately offered to work overtime, covering in for a rather aged employee who had called in sick._

He tried not to look at the parcel on his kitchen table, preferring to hope that it was all in his head. However, the moment he turned on the lamps, the tea kettle snapped into view, glinting horribly in the dim light.

For several long moments Remus simply stared at it, one hand still outstretched towards a lamp on the wall. The box and a few scattered packing peanuts remained on the table. The tea kettle seemed to be glaring at him mockingly.

Suddenly Remus moved forward, upending the box and upsetting a horde of foam peanuts as he hid the kettle from view underneath its original packaging.

Foam peanuts rained to the tiled floor, littering a chair and the surrounding table legs. While the kettle was indeed out of sight now, the fact that it was there was maddening. Remus wanted to smash it to pieces. He almost threw it out the kitchen window.

The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that it was expected in Dumbledore's office the next morning.

During his lunch break, Remus had gone to see Dumbledore and explained the situation in hurried detail.

"It's possible it was indeed cursed," Dumbledore had mused slowly that afternoon. "Although that seems a little strange. Surely he would have realized we would suspect that... No, what seems more likely to me...and a great deal stranger...is the possibility that Black sent it to you as a peace offering."

Remus had choked violently on his tea at this. _"Peace offering?" _he repeated incredulously, his voice tinged with anger.

"Why he would do such a thing, I don't know," Dumbledore continued. "It's possible he's trying, albeit rather strangely, to get you back on his side. He did take your old tea kettle when he disappeared the first time, yes?"

"Yes," said Remus angrily. "But he's far more insane than I thought if he thinks replacing my tea kettle will revive our friendship."

"Perhaps it was a small gesture to instill doubt," Dumbledore mused.

"Meaning?"

"Sirius Black was always very clever, both in school and out. While I can't say much of his actions, he would have known that people aren't so pathetically won over with gifts. Perhaps he sent it to you, knowing it would unnerve you. I don't know what he's trying to do. What with this, and keeping Harry alive and well, it's likely he's planning ahead for his possible capture. He seems to be acting as though by making certain people doubt his conviction, he may have a chance of walking free."

Remus was so overcome with rage at this point that he couldn't speak.

Now, several hours later, Remus was digging through his kitchen cabinet for a dusty bottle of cheap wine in hopes of calming himself a bit. He filled a glass before downing a fair quantity of it.

Remus cast a dark look at the upside-down box on his table, picked up his glass, and retired to his dark bedroom. He set the glass on the side table before collapsing onto the rickety mattress, completely exhausted.

Still fully dressed and forgetting the wine, Remus rolled over and tried to sleep.


	20. burning of the leaves

A/N: Love is always appreciated.

"War is only a cowardly escape from the problems of peace."  
-Thomas Mann

_It took over _a week for Sirius to regain enough strength to sit up in bed and speak, although the newfound energy would quickly flicker out and die. Ayla often scolded him for sitting up too long, saying he should try to conserve his energy. While not understanding a word of Turkish, Sirius picked up the basic message in her words. He usually ignored it.

Ayla often came into the room at random hours, performing various odd tasks to keep Sirius' circulation in check as he wasn't allowed to get up and walk. She made sure he drank at least four glasses of water daily to keep hydrated, and scolded him loudly in a foreign tongue if he didn't have the stomach to finish his meals. She was a regular mother hen, and Sirius couldn't help but appreciate it.

During his long imprisonment in his own bed, Sirius often thought of their eventual disappearance. He knew he would have to do it soon, but still keep the date logical, considering his health. He often wondered where Ayla kept the case of antibiotics. That way he wouldn't have to worry about his condition deteriorating after they left.

Harry, however, seemed determined that they stay as long as possible. While Sirius knew quite well it was only because it delayed their return to England, he wouldn't have it. He understood Harry's position, but they had to leave the public eye as soon as possible.

It was a miracle they hadn't been discovered yet.

Several long days passed during which Sirius obeyed everything Ayla instructed, hoping for a faster recovery. While he wasn't looking to return to an ideal health, he wanted to be well enough that he wouldn't drag them behind when they continued on their way. After all, the last time such a thing happened, they were nearly killed.

Finally, halfway through their third week, Sirius had the entire plan worked out. He knew the monks and nuns rose at four every morning for their first prayers, and locked themselves in their private chambers for well over two hours. While he hadn't yet discovered where Ayla kept the antibiotics, he decided they weren't worth getting caught over.

Harry wasn't happy when Sirius told him they were leaving in the early hours the following morning.

"But you're not even better yet," he protested.

"That may be so, but I'm better than I was when we first arrived in India," Sirius said calmly. "Besides, we can't keep delaying this. The longer we wait, the better chance the Ministry has of catching us."

Harry's brow furrowed as he tried to think of another point. "You don't know where Ayla keeps the medicine."

"Yes, but getting away successfully is more important."

"Not if you get really sick again."

"That won't happen."

Harry snorted. "That's what you told me the afternoon before you almost died. Again."

"But I was still ill then," Sirius reminded him. "I'm almost over it now."

Harry looked disbelieving. "Then why are you lying in bed? If you're better, shouldn't you be sitting or something?"

"Ayla would kill me if I did," said Sirius. This was mostly true. "Now, you need to be ready to leave at about four-thirty tomorrow morning. That gives us about an hour and a half to get as far away as possible. The Black Sea is only a few miles north, so we can cross that into Ukraine. The Dinstér River should take us towards Poland. After that, we should cross through Germany and Belgium. The only thing left would be to cross the English Channel."

Harry frowned. "How long would it take?"

Sirius thought about it. "I'm hoping only a few weeks. No more than a month, hopefully. I don't fancy the idea of traveling on foot through the _entire _winter."

Harry calculated the time in his head. "So about the middle of January?"

"If not sooner," Sirius replied. "I was originally hoping to reach England by Christmas, but that's out of the question now."

Harry had completely forgotten about Christmas until Sirius brought it up. They had spent Thanksgiving evading the Ministry while on a ship headed towards India—or maybe they were already in India when the holiday came; Harry really couldn't remember. The idea of Christmas sounded so strange to him, even though he lived a perfectly normal life just two months ago. The concept seemed almost foreign.

_

* * *

It was like an epiphany, or something like one. Remus had woken the following morning to the sight of a full wine glass a foot away, and a strange alertness in his head. He dressed for work and downed the contents of the glass without a second thought before heading out his door._

The following two weeks were spent in a rather strange haze. Strangely enough, it felt oddly freeing, as though Remus was no longer plagued with thoughts of his former friend.

Things were a little clearer than before.

Several days later, the fog had cleared, and Remus knew what had to be done. He was in his musty attic, sorting through the boxes of his old school things, as well as several random relics that had once belonged to Sirius Black. The latter he sorted into its own cardboard box, tossing them in unceremoniously without a second thought. The rest he re-packed, organizing the boxes in a neat stack in the once overcrowded corner of the half-circular attic.

Remus descended the steps and exited through a back door until he was standing in his misty, overgrown yard on the side of his house, box resting in his arms. He headed across the natural thin dirt trail that led to a sort of outdoor furnace where he burned trash.

He paused for a moment, staring at the rotting leaves that had blown in since he had last used the furnace. Robotically he set the packed cardboard box amongst the ashes and frozen leaves before turning on his heel and heading back inside his house.

There was no reminder to haunt him now.

_

* * *

Edna Lively filed her resignation a week after Victor's death in India, despite the fact that not a soul suspected she had a hand in the entire affair. Within a few days, she felt as though she was going mad with too much time on her hands, and applied for a desk job at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. With her background in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Lively was assigned to manage the hospital's legal matters._

Before she knew it, she was swarmed with filed complaints of malpractice, unusual claims, and simple, albeit annoying, comments on the patients' displeasure of the hospital.

It was just enough to keep her mind occupied in the daytime.

_

* * *

Harry awoke suddenly, rudely in his opinion, simply because of the hour. Groggily he rubbed his eyes and rolled over to stare at Sirius blearily. At first he thought he was late getting up for school, but then reality started to sink in._

"The others have locked themselves away for prayer," Sirius said in a low voice. He was fully dressed, although his clothes hung more loosely on him than before. "Get dressed. I've already found something for us to eat on the way."

Harry sat up slowly, still not completely awake. He pulled his jeans on from the day before and yanked a sweater over his head. Sirius set Harry's winter coat on the mattress while Harry searched for his shoes, not bothering to change his socks.

While he tied his laces, Sirius quickly remade Harry's bed for some reason. Within a minute, they were ready to leave.

As they entered the cool, dark passageway, Harry saw Sirius had the familiar rucksack draped over his shoulders, only a strangely square object was protruding through the fabric. Harry opened his mouth to ask him about this, but Sirius held a finger to his lips, motioning for him to be silent.

They headed silently to the dark courtyard, where Sirius peered over the stone wall to be sure the street on the other side was indeed deserted. When he was satisfied, he helped Harry before climbing over himself.

Harry had no idea where they were going, but somehow, Sirius seemed to know. They walked in silence for hours until they were well into the wild, misty countryside, far from civilization.

Sirius sat down on a cold boulder, slinging the pack onto his lap as he did so. Harry sat on a slightly smaller rock across from him and waited. As Sirius undid the zipper, Harry saw a small wooden box placed carefully between the chaos of the rest of the bag's contents.

Sirius unearthed two large scones wrapped in a thin cloth and a few sliced of what appeared to be some kind of meat. He tore the scones open and divided the meat, preparing sandwiches. He handed one to Harry.

Answering Harry's inquiring gaze, Sirius said, "I snuck into town yesterday evening, when the others had already gone to bed. I never found Ayla's antibiotics, but I did find a small bottle of the stuff in town, so we should be fine."

So that answered the question of what the mysterious box was, Harry mused.

"How did you get the money?"

"I didn't," Sirius responded. Harry stared at him, not quite understanding.

"You stole it?"

"The medicine, yes; the food, no. A bakery was getting rid of some old bread. The rest is in the bag."

"Where did you get the meat, then?"

"Let's just say I make a loveable stray," Sirius replied simply. Harry looked down at his sandwich.

_

* * *

It took the better part of two weeks for the Ministry to trace the imprint of the trail left by Black when he disapparated with Harry Potter from the marshes in northern India. After several misleads and straying, it was confirmed Black disapparated to Turkey. As for the city, let alone exact location, the answer was still pending._

Crouch was losing his patience very quickly.

"How difficult can it possibly be? We know he went to Turkey, so what, may I ask, is so hard about following the trail completely so we at least know where he disapparated to?"

"The trail has almost faded entirely, sir," said a young auror named Dawlish. "It's so fragmented, it's a wonder we traced it to Turkey at all."

There was a dull clunk as Moody moved to an enormous map dotted by tiny red pins. Crouch turned to look at him.

"New York," Moody growled, pointing at the first red pin in the northeastern corner of the United States. "And then to Ushuaia," he continued, running his fingertip vertically along the map until it was resting at the second pin. "He took a ship to Kochi, India," he said, speaking louder as he followed the trail. "before heading north to Gandhidham. He met Maguire and the others in the Rann of Kutch." His finger stopped on the last pin, but his eyes—both normal and magical—"And last we heard, Black was in Turkey."

He turned to Crouch and Dawlish.

"Well?" he said expectantly.

Crouch gave him a mock expression of curiosity. "Please, enlighten us, Alastor."

"Surely I'm not the only one who sees a pattern?" Moody said, eyebrow raised. When he met no answer, he sighed exasperatedly and retraced the trail from New York to Turkey.

"He went to India, and since then, has been heading northwest the entire time."

"Then how do you explain his stop in Argentina? A detour?"

"I imagine Black assumed it was far enough from the States that he wouldn't be recognized by every single inhabitant the moment he stepped foot in the city," growled Moody. "But why would he be heading north? Surely if he was simply on the run, he would go in every which direction in an attempt to throw us off? He's leaving a pretty clear trail."

"What are you implying?" Crouch asked flatly.

"Black obviously has a set destination in mind," said Moody, turning back to the map. "But the question for you, Barty, is where that might be."

The rest of the day was spent trekking north towards the Black Sea. Harry barely registered the experience as, for the second time in his life, they snuck onto a cargo ship docked and ready to sail up the Dinstér River towards Poland. This time, however, the ship's large metal crates were completely empty, and the cargo hold itself was reasonable spacious, the complete opposite of their seaward journey to India.

Harry still hadn't come up with a plan to convince Sirius to stay. His best option would be to try to persuade this Remus person to let him stay, or else Harry would have to follow Sirius. He would have to be careful, however, not to be seen until they were so far away from England that Sirius wouldn't be able to turn back.

Yet that was more of a last resort than an actual option for Harry. The idea of blackmailing Sirius into staying seemed a better choice, although Harry had yet to come up with an adequate threat.

He was running out of time.

As the ship lurched into life several hours later and began its steady progress across the Black Sea, Harry lay on his back, staring at the distant ceiling fifty feet up. His gaze followed the intricate maze of pipes as the engines hummed loudly and the broken waves washed against the metal plates of the ship outside.

_

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Ayla headed towards the strange man's room, a bottle of antibiotics in one hand, and a question burning in her mind. She kept repeating the English words over and over in a low whisper to herself so she wouldn't forget them._

As she opened the door, it took her a moment to register the empty room and made bed. She nearly dropped the bottle in her hand, and the heavily-practiced sentence completely faded from memory.

Regaining a grip on herself, she rushed across the passage to the young boy's room, and saw that it was also deserted, bed made. She was certain he hadn't simply gone for a walk, because his belongings were missing as well.

Ayal raced across the courtyard to find Salim tending the vegetables in the garden.

"They're gone!" she shouted, breathing heavily from her sprint. Salim stared at her, not quite understanding.

"The man and the boy are gone!" she repeated urgently.

Salim frowned. "Perhaps they're out for a walk."

Ayla rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Salim, their things are gone as well. They _left_!"

Salim stood up, and Ayla grabbed his forearm, dragging him back into the passageway that led to the now-empty rooms.

Salim stared in silence at the made bed, a slight frown creasing his otherwise still features.

There was a pause, and then Ayla burst out, "I knew it!"

Salim turned to her, taken aback.

"I know why they left!" she said loudly, shaking a finger at him. "It was the two people that everyone's looking for! The Englishman and the boy!"

Salim frowned. "How can you be sure?"

"Apart from the fact it makes perfect sense?" Ayla asked wryly. "Well, they both speak English, they fit the description perfectly, they were wandering around—aimlessly by the looks of it—and the man was injured. They must have ran into someone who recognized them."

"If it is them," said Salim slowly. "Who do you intend to alert?"

"I have the number to call," said Ayla. "I'll go into town to use the telephone. I saved the article years ago, only I completely forgot about it until the two of them showed up. At first I couldn't figure out why I thought of it then, but now I know. That man was Sirius Black."

Salim stared at her. "The mass murderer? If that was him, surely he would have slaughtered us all in our sleep."

"How?" Ayla countered. "He was half-dead when he showed up, and riddled with pneumonia. He could barely sit up, let alone murder a few dozen people. Besides, he didn't seem keen attracting attention to himself. He behaved skittish a great deal of the time, as though he was expecting an attack at any time. He probably saw the monastery as a sort of temporary haven, a safe place for the time being while they recuperated."

Salim sighed.

"I'm calling the number," said Ayla firmly. "If it's not them, then it's not them. No real harm done. But if it is, then it's better someone called just in case rather than not at all."

"Fine," said Salim darkly. "But how do you plan to notify these people? If it's a hotline to England, I'm doubting it'll be in our language."

"Are you saying you would rather call?"

"If that's what you want, fine, but it will have to wait," said Salim.

Ayla rolled her eyes. "I'll do it myself, then. I'll shout the name and city if I must to get their attention." With that, Ayla turned on her heel and left the monastery.

For several minutes that seemed to pass in mere seconds, Ayla rushed to the convenience store and dialed the strange number written hastily on an aged slip of paper. She heard several clicks and a dull ringing before a voice answered.

Ayla ignored the fact that the receiver was speaking in English. "Sirius Black and Harry Potter were in Safranbolu, Turkey. I suggest you get yourselves out here as soon as possible!"

Ayla was shocked and taken aback to hear the voice on the other end immediately respond in Turkish. "In Safranbolu? Are you sure?"

"He was at the monastery," Ayla continued quickly. "He was injured, and we cared for him, as well as the boy. I don't speak English, so I didn't realize it was them until just now. But they left this morning."

"How long ago?"

Ayla thought about it. "A few hours ago, most likely. He must have disappeared with the boy while we were in our morning prayers."

"And when are those?"

"Four in the morning."

There was a pause on the other end that lasted so long Ayla wondered if perhaps the man hung up on her.

"We're sending people out immediately," he said just when Ayla was about to set the phone back in its cradle. "Might I ask your name, and where your monastery is located?"

"My name is Ayla," the woman answered. She didn't give her last name. "The monastery is located on the main road that leads into town. It's right on the edge of the city. A fair Gothic building surrounded by enormous Renaissance buildings. You can't miss it."

There was a click on the line, and Ayla was certain the man hung up. She slowly set the phone in its cradle, and vaguely wondered how long it would take for the Englishmen to get to Turkey. Hours, probably.

Ayla left the store and headed into the cold morning. As she wrapped her shawl about her tightly, the first few flakes of snow began to fall.

Ayla found Salim was still in the man's empty room, frowning and thinking silently to himself. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead of him. He took no notice that he saw Ayla enter.

"They're on their way," Ayla said, stepping into the room.

Salim glanced at her, but didn't reply.

Ayla sighed inwardly, and moved to sit on the bed next to him. It was then she noticed there was a small scrap of paper on the bed with a small message written in black ink. She picked it up, glanced over the unfamiliar words, and immediately handed it over to Salim, who took it slowly, as if the gesture was unfamiliar.

"What does it say?" Ayla demanded after a long silence. "I cannot read it."

Salim stared at it silently.

"Well?"

"It says 'thank you'," Salim replied quietly.


	21. tiraspol and göttingen

A/N: Since today is my seventeenth birthday, I thought you might all enjoy a reversal of customs with the new chapter. However, seventeen-thousand reviews would be wonderful. Also, my German isn't fantastic, so my apologies in advance for butchering the language.

"Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out."  
-Anton Chekhov

_It took two _days to reach port in a large, industrious city called Tiraspol. This time, however, Harry and Sirius managed to sneak off the ship without attracting any unwanted attention. Sirius was quite grateful for this, for it was the first part of their journey he worried about most at the moment.

After leaving the winding port, the two of them made their way along the crowded industrial portion of the city, and were surprised to see it was quite crowded. No one seemed to recognize them, however, so the unexpected presence of so many people wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

Harry followed Sirius in a grudging silence, staring blankly at his feet or at the commuters they passed. An entire sea's distance later, and he still hadn't come up with a single plan.

In the distance, Harry could hear foreign voices yelling in a language he didn't recognize. He was rather used to this after growing up in New York, so he didn't pay much attention to it.

It didn't take long for Harry to realize while this was common in the City, it wasn't so here.

Harry looked over his shoulder, past Sirius, and saw two groups of men approaching each other from opposite directions on the other side of the street. While he couldn't understand what they were saying, Harry was certain they were angry about something. He turned to look behind him, and saw that several people were pausing, whispering behind hands and quickly disappearing inside nearby shops. All eyes were fixed on the arguing men.

Harry's gaze fell upon a young girl with white-blonde hair, about his age. Her long navy coat reminded him of his old friend Kim. She stared in turn at Harry, standing in the sidewalk, until her mother ushered her inside a bakery.

Sirius stopped suddenly, grabbing Harry's shoulder as he did so. Harry snapped out of his reverie, surprised, and looked around. Before he could get a very good look at the crowded city center in front of them, Sirius picked him up hastily and suddenly disappeared down an alley.

"What—?" was all Harry managed before loud shots were heard, immediately followed by the panicked sounds of screaming and people running for cover.

Sirius' pace seemed to triple as he dodged through parked cars, and onto a new street, this one just as terror-filled as the previous one. Looking over Sirius' shoulder, Harry could see white smoke from the previous street seeping into the alleyway they had just left. A few random shots and the screaming was still echoing through the cold air.

Sirius paused suddenly, and Harry looked around. Both ends of the street were completely cut off. In the distance, Harry could hear echoing sirens.

Sirius cursed weakly under his breath. He set Harry down, and looked as though he was preparing to disapparate until Harry yanked on his sleeve. Sirius jumped as though he didn't even know Harry was there.

Harry, taken aback for a moment, stared at him, frowning. There was a strange expression on Sirius' face he couldn't place.

Before either of them could speak, a large crowd suddenly emerged from the alleyway, coughing, screaming, or else firing pistols.

Sirius dove for cover behind a run-down car, shoving Harry with him and making sure he was well hidden. "Stay low," Sirius whispered hoarsely in his ear.

Harry, completely confused and a little afraid, laid flat on his stomach and looked at what he could see of the scene from beneath the car. He saw dozens of feet rushing in all directions, and the remains of what looked like snow-turned-ice. More shots rang out, and suddenly a person collapsed in the snow, mere yards away from where Harry and Sirius were hidden. Harry stared wide-eyed as the snow around the motionless man soaked up his scarlet blood.

The sirens were louder than ever now, and various colors of smoke in tiny canisters were suddenly released in the streets. Harry stared at it, covering his mouth and nose in a half-attempt not to breathe it in, even though he had no idea what it may be.

Suddenly everything blacked out.

_

* * *

Harry awoke groggily and slowly. He had no idea where he was, what had happened, or how he got there. He felt hard cement beneath him, and managed to force his eyes open._

There was a dim light coming from a heavily-barred window, and the walls appeared to be made of aged cement. The room was tiny; barely seven feet in any direction.

Harry rolled over and saw Sirius slowly getting to his elbows before sitting up, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Where are we?" Harry whispered, still too groggy to sit up properly.

Sirius turned to him before looking around their prison with a blank expression on his face. Harry watched as his eyes took in their surroundings very slowly, as though trying to memorize each detail.

"Sirius?"

"It's a prison cell," he whispered simply, scratching his temple with one finger.

"You mean we've been arrested?" Harry blurted out, getting up so fast spots erupted in his eyes.

Sirius didn't answer.

"But—how? I mean, who—? But what happened? There's no way they could have—could they?" Questions fought each other to be asked first. Then he added tentatively, "Is this the Ministry?"

Sirius shook his head slowly, staring at the room around them once more. "No," he said vaguely. "We're still in Moldova."

"But how?" Harry pressed. "Why are we here?"

"We've been arrested, apparently," Sirius said, as though this was nothing unusual. He sat against the wall and stared out the window.

Harry got to his feet, starting to get angry. "Well, why are you just sitting there? Shouldn't we be trying to escape? If this isn't the Ministry, well... aren't they going to find us if we stay?"

"Probably," Sirius answered dully, still not taking his eyes off the window.

Harry glared at him. "So you're just going to let it happen?"

No answer.

Harry kicked at the floor angrily. "Why are you doing this? Don't you even care? The Ministry—!"

"Is going to take you in and properly arrest me," said Sirius forcefully, turning to him. "Which, I might add, is a much better outcome than you being killed in that riot—"

"Like that one man?" Harry spat, remembering the man who had collapsed in the snow. He had never seen death before, but he was too angry and preoccupied to register it at the moment. "Why did you stay there, then? Why didn't you just leave while we still could? Why did you—?"

"Don't," Sirius warned weakly.

Harry ignored him and ploughed on. "Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to get rid of me as soon as possible or something? Don't just sit there like an idiot! You're the adult, so do something!"

"Harry—"

"Stop it!" Harry snapped angrily. "Aren't you going to do _anything_? You're not even trying, just like you weren't during that fight—"

"Enough!" Sirius shouted. Shocked, Harry fell silent.

Sirius paused, as though just realizing that he had yelled. Sighing heavily, he ran his hands distractedly through his unkempt hair. "I'm sorry," he muttered quickly. "I shouldn't have—it's just..."

Harry stared at him for a long while. "It reminded you of that one afternoon."

It wasn't a question.

Sirius glanced up at Harry before burying his face in his hands, dark hair protruding from between the pale fingers.

Harry chewed his lower lip, not knowing what to say. Sirius' reaction made sense now. Harry silently sat down next to him. For a moment he sat there awkwardly, then he rested his head against Sirius, nestling up closer to him. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders.

* * *

"_They've all been _locked away, then? Are they ready for questioning?" asked a rather stout man, Aleksander Enescu. He rubbed his beard-covered chin as he spoke.

Patryk Kalin, the warden of the prison, had seen people involved in the same dispute in his prison so often, he even had a ward reserved. The city's Russian workers were always in constant, often violent, conflict with the Romanian-speaking population. Usually their confrontations were gang fights, but this was the first time a full riot had occurred.

It would be all over the papers by evening.

Kalin nodded absently towards Enescu as he ruffled through overstuffed manila folders on his desk.

Aleksander Enescu was the head of the police force in Tiraspol, and relished his power. As a young man, he had great ambitions to be involved in Moldova's government, but the crumbling economics and politics steered him away.

Enescu and Kalin were often butting heads over the dispute between the Russians and Romanian-speakers in Tiraspol. Enescu wanted to simply throw the lot of them in prison for life and be done with the situation, but Kalin always had to point out his prison wasn't big enough, nor was it legal. Enescu was constantly bickering with Kalin, who in turn always replied with sarcastic and often cheerful remarks.

The thought of strangling the other was a constant occurrence for both men.

"You have fifty-four men locked in my prison," said Kalin, examining a slip of paper. "Most of these names are quite popular in my records." He flipped the paper over to examine the next page. "Interrogate as you please, Aleksander. Who would you like to give the pleasure to first? The Russians or the Romanians?"

"Whoever's first," snapped Enescu impatiently. He had waited hours to get to this point. He didn't see why each individual had to be booked accordingly, following the same maddening process.

"That would be the nameless bystanders," said Kalin simply, returning to the front page.

"Excuse me?"

"You've thrown more than just the rioting men in my prison, Aleksander," said Kalin casually, setting the papers on his desk and heading towards his office door.

"My orders were to take everyone involved," snapped Enescu, following Kalin.

"Ah, well, that explains it then," said Kalin loftily, leading Enescu down several stone corridors and flights of stairs.

When they reached the correct ward, Enescu barked orders at the guards to take the men into the interrogation room one by one. As he did so, Kalin disappeared for some time before returning with a drink.

It went on for hours. By nightfall, Kalin was getting annoyed with Enescu's attempts to convict the random bystanders, and made his thoughts clear to the man.

"Then why don't you return to your office and drink a hole into your cabinet?" Enescu snapped.

"I'm forced to overlook your affairs, Aleksander. Prison policy, you see."

Aleksander rolled his eyes and entered the interrogation room for what seemed like the millionth time that day.

Kalin took a sip of brandy and sauntered away. He walked deftly down the stone corridor of the reserved prison ward, and decided he might as well see who was left to be subjected to Enescu's presence before he could call it off for the night and go home.

As he started nearing the end of the ward, his spirits began to lift. That meant Enescu was almost through with his crusade.

Kalin passed by the first occupied cell, almost overlooking it. He paused, and stared at the occupants: a young man and a little boy. Enescu really thought a child was involved in the riot?

"I take it you were simply caught in the riot, and Aleksander was too much of an ass to realize that?" he asked, taking another drink. The two occupants turned to stare at him, clearly not understanding.

Kalin repeated the question in Romanian, and was met with the same confused stares. He sighed exasperatedly as he took another sip.

"Well, say something so I at least know what language you speak," he muttered, waving his hand. He turned to a radio strapped to his belt, and radioed to the guard, "Have either of these two said anything? In cell 381?"

"The boy with the lad?" the guard called back, static crackling across the radio. "They were talking a few hours ago, but I didn't understand a word. Some northern European language."

"English?" Kalin asked, turning back to the occupants inside his prison. Judging by the change of expressions on both faces, he guessed correctly.

"Ah, well, that's good to know," Kalin said simply. "Because I don't know any other languages. Now, what are you going in my prison?"

The man stared back at him, as though he was wondering the same thing.

"Clearly you don't speak Russian or Romanian," said Kalin. "So we can assume you had nothing to do with their show of affection this morning. Aleksander's an ass, as I'm sure you've noticed if you've met the man. Personally, I suggest you get out of my prison before he comes back to continue his crusade."

"What?"

Kalin looked at the man.

"You mean we can leave?" the little boy asked hopefully, sitting up straighter.

"I'm not sure why you'd prefer to stay, but yes," said Kalin, unlocking the wrought iron door. "I don't care to know how you ended up in here with the others, and I plan on keeping it this way. Your belongings are on the other side of the exit, sitting on the floor in a huge pile with a Now," he said, stepping back. "Out of my prison."

The two foreigners stood up slowly, as though unsure of what was going on.

"Have a nice evening," Kalin called over his shoulder as he walked away, draining his glass. After a few moments, he heard the hurried footsteps of the two strangers leaving their cell and exiting through the opposite door.

Aleksander Enescu would demand his head when he found out what Kalin had just done.

_

* * *

Sirius didn't hesitate leaving Moldova as fast as possible. He collected their confiscated belongings from the prison, and ignoring the risks, performed a round of disapparations until they were in northwestern Poland._

It was very early in the morning when they reached Szczecin, just on the border of eastern Germany. Sirius normally would have kept going, for he wanted to make it to Berlin, but he thought that if he tried, he would have splinched themselves.

Harry huddled against Sirius for warmth, as the temperature seemed to drop into the single digits. They had broken into an old stable on the edges of town to take shelter from the snow.

Sirius rummaged with frozen fingers inside their bag, and saw hardly any of their possessions remained. Miraculously, they hadn't confiscated his wand, mistaking it for garbage. However, all but the food and the shattered remains of the medicine were gone.

Sirius picked up a wet shard of the glass bottle, staring at it for a moment before tossing it aside and clearing the rest of the broken glass out.

Their food was ruined from the shattered medicine, and all their clothes were gone.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked. Sirius looked over at him.

"No," he said in a tired voice, closing the sack. He didn't want to worry Harry right now. He would think of a way to get more food, and another coat for Harry. "Just go to sleep."

Sirius cast a charm on the barn to keep the freezing air out, hoping it would last the night. Freezing to death was never something he fancied much.

Harry snuggled up close to him, burying himself in the old hay in the process. Sirius wrapped his arms around Harry to provide more warmth for the boy. For most of the night, Sirius stared at the small window near the high ceiling from their place on the loft. It was going to be much more difficult to get Harry to England in one piece than he had anticipated.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newest auror to the Ministry, knocked on Crouch's office door and slipped inside.

"The reports from Moldova are inconclusive," he said in his deep voice, setting a large manila envelope on the desk.

"Meaning?" Crouch barked, looking up.

"Meaning they never took the names of the bystanders caught in the riot," Kingsley answered. "There's no way for them to know who the man and child were."

Crouch sighed impatiently. "So they just let them waltz off without a second thought? Are they completely oblivious to the fact that we're still searching for Black and Potter?"

"As I recall, the story of the hunt being cancelled was printed in the papers," said Kingsley slowly.

"Yes," Crouch said impatiently. "But we did of course inform the respective governments that this was not so, and to keep an eye out. Do they have any information on the two?"

"Only that they spoke English and escaped the prison in Tiraspol undetected," answered Kingsley.

Crouch shook his head, flustered. "Send your team to Tiraspol. Check for any traces of disapparation, Floo use, or a Portkey. In fact, check for any traces of magic within the last twenty-four hours."

"That's a wide field to try and investigate," said Kingsley steadily. "Tiraspol's population is just under five-hundred thousand. They're bound to have hundreds of witches and wizards there."

"I don't care," said Crouch. "Check the scene of the riot first, obviously, and the entire around the prison, as well as the prison itself. After such a fiasco that morning, I doubt the guards would have turned a blind eye. The only explanation for the man and child escaping without being seen is the fact that it was Black and Potter."

"There are other possibilities," Kingsley tried to reason. "And if it was Black and Potter, how do you plan to trace them? It took us weeks to trace that Portkey that was destroyed in India—"

"I don't care," said Crouch angrily. "I'm not losing Black again. This is getting out of hand. Black's already added another name to his list of victims, not to mention countless other charges—"

"The death of Victor was never confirmed completely," said Kingsley, brow furrowed. "He was hit with a stunner, but no one knows who fired it—"

"Do I look like I care about finer details at the moment?" Crouch snapped, glaring at him.

Kingsley stared back silently for a moment, before replying simply, "Not at all."

_

* * *

A week passed, miraculously uneventful compared to their previous experiences. Sirius and Harry managed to make their way over the border the next morning, crossing through Germany on a mixture of muggle transportation, walking, and the occasional disapparation. Sirius made sure not to use the later unless they were going from one large city to another, so as to attract as little attention as possible._

However, despite the recent lack of news and run-ins with unwanted company, their fortunes hadn't improved much. Sirius' pneumonia was returning in full strength, and even Harry was starting to fall ill. Sirius managed to barter for a heavy woolen overcoat for Harry when they were in Berlin, an extremely difficult process as he could hardly remember any of the German he had learned while in school, but Harry would still shiver at night when the temperature dropped significantly.

It wasn't until they reached Göttingen late one evening that they realized it was Christmas Eve. After being on the run for over a month, Sirius stopped keeping track of the date, and almost forgot about Christmas entirely. It seemed as though he wasn't the only one.

For over an hour they wandered the city, looking for a place to stay for the night and walking to keep warm. Nearly all the shops and restaurants they passed were closing early for the holiday.

In the distance, Sirius could see a towering Gothic cathedral, its enormous spires looming over the city. Not long later, the snow-covered road they were following led to the _Dom_'s grand front entrance.

Bright light shone brilliantly through the high, stained glass windows, and the enormous rose window at the very top of the facade seemed to glow like a glassy sun.. Sirius paused across the wide street from the cathedral, staring at the enormous building standing out so drastically from its surroundings.

The light flurry of snow began to thicken, becoming heavier by the minute. Sirius led Harry across the cobbled street to the other side, where they took shelter beneath one of the _Dom_'s flying buttresses.

Harry pulled his wool overcoat tighter about him, flipping the lapels up to cover his lower face. Sirius examined the area for a possible nook they could take shelter in for the night, pulling his sweater's hood over his head, and wrapping himself tightly in his jacket. Just as he was about to give up and suggest to Harry they try for another place, a small side door opened suddenly, and what appeared to be a young choir boy emerged. He discarded the bundle of trash he was carrying, and was just about to return to the church when he spotted the dark figure of Sirius standing thirty feet away, contrasting with the white snow.

"_Was machen Sie hier_?" he called, taking a few steps forward.

Sirius sighed inwardly. James had taught him random German phrases years before, although most of them should never be uttered in public. Sirius cursed himself for not remembering anything other than James' personal favorite phrase, _dir hat man wohl ins Gehirn geschissen und vergessen umzuruhen.. _Sirius doubted whether this would do him any good.

"_Wie hei en Sie_?" the youth asked.

Just then, Harry emerged from behind Sirius, staring at the choir boy, whose gaze fell on him in turn.

"_Sprechen Sie Deutsch_?" he tried this time, sounding a little doubtful.

Finally, something Sirius recognized. He shook his head in reply. "English," he replied.

"What are you doing here?" the youth asked, translating his original question.

"We don't have anywhere to stay," Sirius replied, unable to come up with a plausible lie. He figured he might as well be honest.

The youth studied him for a moment, then said, "Come with me." He beckoned them to follow, and led them through the side door. Sirius and Harry followed silently, secretly glad to be out of the freezing snow despite the danger they were now in of being recognized.

The boy led them down several dimly-lit corridors until they reached the main chapel. Thousands of candles lit the cavernous room, illuminating the buttresses, the fan vaulting ceiling, and the intricate jambs along the walls. Dozens of rows of wooden pews stood like an army before a grand altar, occupied by a few scraggly-looking men, women, and children.

"You may stay in here for the night," the youth said, gesturing toward the chapel. "You will at least be out of the snow."

Sirius paused, looking around the cathedral's enormous chapel before turning to the boy. "_Dankesch__ön_."

The choir boy nodded in acknowledgment, and disappeared down the nave.

Sirius and Harry sat down in the middle of a pew towards the back, relishing the warmth of the church, something they had not experienced since leaving the monastery in Turkey.

Before an hour had passed, the choir assembled toward the front of the chapel and sang for their homeless guests. Harry, huddled against Sirius, soon fell peacefully asleep for the first time in days. Sirius leaned against the pew, absentmindedly stroking Harry's damp hair and watching the choir. He was never really religious, but as he listened to their beautiful hymns, he felt like he was in heaven.

_

* * *

Crouch sat in his office, leaning back in his chair and studying the enormous, pin-encrusted map hanging on his wall. His sleeves were rolled haphazardly, and a shadow was starting to appear on his normally clean-shaven face. Golden threads connected the pins from New York to Argentina, and followed Sirius Black's trail all the way to Turkey. A single purple thread connected this pin to another that marked Tiraspol._

The direction was quite clear; Black was heading steadily in a northwestern direction after going in a huge circle. He knew black was heading east, but it was very difficult to pinpoint the exact location he might be heading. While it was quite vague the week before, the certain possibility that Black and Potter were in Moldova seemed to guarantee that Black was returning to Europe.

But why?

Crouch was well aware of the popular idea of in order to hide something effectively, it must be in an obvious location. However, he was amazed Black would attempt to make the journey back into Europe. It was far more dangerous; it made more sense for Black to head south to Thailand.

Yet he was heading for Europe.

Crouch had long since stationed aurors and hit wizards in various European countries, ordering them to keep an eye out. Black had been clever enough to evade them for four years, and escape on more than one occasion. Even with the knowledge of the area he was heading to, it would be difficult to catch him.

He needed to know _exactly _where Black was headed.

Moody, of course, had been dropping by often and spilling his unhelpful remarks.

Black had a clear plan in mind, that much was obvious. But _where_? Every move he made since fleeing England four years ago had been an unexpected surprise, and Crouch was prepared to bet his life's earnings that his next move would be the same.

Crouch stood up suddenly, moving closer to the map. His gaze followed the Indian port to Tiraspol in a single, slow movement. He quickly picked up another pin, and placed it over London.

Black was heading back to England.

_

* * *

Three days later, Sirius and Harry were standing on the northern French coastline, shivering in the icy wind. They were overlooking a large body of black, icy water, and in the distance they could see the dark outline of large, rocky cliffs that seemed to plunge right into the sea._

"This area's called the English Channel," Sirius told him, pointing a numb finger at the roaring water. "And that land you see over there...the cliffs? That's England."

Harry stared at the tiny black landmass across the dark waters of the Channel. This was the first time he had seen England since the night Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow.


	22. coming home

A/N: I was completely taken aback by all the wonderful reviews. I rewrote this chapter over and over in the span of three days (which is saying a lot, considering it was during the school week) and it was amazing how difficult this chapter is. I hope I did it justice. However, it's the one we've all been dying to get to. Enjoy.

"It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend."  
-William Blake

_Regardless of the _attempts to keep it quiet, the rumors of Sirius Black's possible return to England spread like wildfire throughout the Ministry. When the news reached the desk of Frank Anson, something started burning up inside of him once more.

"Just like Hogwarts, it is," said Roberts, a young witch who worked several cubicles down. She was leaning against the wall of Frank's cubicle, watching the mass horde of memos whizzing past in every direction. Had she known of Frank's past and failed attempt to bring Sirius Black down, she would have kept the intense news to herself.

"Does Crouch have any proof?" Frank asked, frowning.

"I doubt it," said Roberts, shrugging. "But when has that ever stopped him? I hear tell Moody's been a huge part of it all, and Moody has a tendency to be right. My Head told me he reckons it was Moody who figured it out in the first place, and Crouch's the one who's going wild over it."

"Well, how did Moody figure it out?"

"The ever faithful tactic of sticking pins into a map for over four years," said Roberts, only half-serious. "In reality, I really don't know. I doubt he's one to share all his tactics with everyone around him. You know how Moody is."

Frank nodded, staring at an aged burn mark on the corner of his desk that had been present long before he began working at the Ministry.

"So when's your vacation for the holidays?" Roberts asked, changing the subject.

"Tomorrow's my last day, actually," said Frank. "Two weeks off. Fudge gave me an extra week."

"Not bad," said Roberts. "I have to work tomorrow. Christmas day, no less. What on earth do they expect to happen that's so important, a good lot of us have to show up tomorrow?"

"You don't celebrate holidays," Frank pointed out.

Roberts waved her hand. "That's beside the point. Equal opportunity, I say. Why make me come to work every holiday, just because I'm anti-holiday?"

"Um, convenience?" Frank suggested.

"Well, I suppose that means I can get some undisturbed sleep after the Christmas Eve parties," Roberts mused.

"I thought you—"

"I don't go to these things for the Christmas spirit," Roberts clarified. "But free drinks are always nice."

Frank shook his head, marveling at the young's ability to consume large quantities of alcohol and still function the next day.

"So what are your holiday plans? Or are you joining the movement?" Roberts asked with a smile.

"The usual," said Frank, shrugging. "Or we may go on holiday. Somewhere south."

In fact, Frank had very different plans for his extended vacation.

_

* * *

Sirius and Harry apparated over the English Channel early the next morning, disappearing from Cherbourg to Hastings, and then to Felixstowe. While the distance wasn't incredibly long, they still had quite a journey ahead of them until they reached King's Lynn in Norfolk._

The moment they reached the English shore, Sirius immediately disillusioned Harry, and transformed into the large, black dog. He wasn't going to take any more risks, nor use any sort of magic when it could be helped. While he had disapparated often while on the European mainland due to time restraints, he was going to be far more cautious now that they were in the country.

Not only that, but he doubted whether he would be able to summon the energy to disapparate across the country. The last warm night either of them had experienced was the night spent in the Gothic church in Germany.

Sirius was doing everything he could to make sure Harry was warm enough, and got enough of the scavenged food to eat. In turn, he often ignored his own needs, and his health suffered greatly for it once more. Breathing was difficult once more; it felt as though rocks had filled the bottom of his lungs. But he had to keep moving.

Sirius was avoiding all the cities, braving only the remote towns in the countryside when they needed food. They spent their nights trudging through the heavy snow, rarely stopping in order to stay warm, and sleeping in self-dug burrows near the base of tree trunks during the day.

By the time they reached northern Surrey, Harry needed to stop often, and Sirius' hands were blistering painfully from the ice.

He would have to find some leather to make little shoes when he was disguised as a dog the next time they entered town. The last thing he needed at the moment was frostbite.

By the third day, they were thirty miles northwest of Norwich.

Sirius felt as though they were trudging through Mordor, and heading right for Mount Doom. Every step they took in England was far more dangerous than any of their past experiences since leaving New York.

After being used to days of flat land, Sirius was both relieved and disconcerted by the presence of rolling, snow-covered hills: they were close to King's Lynn, located on the other side.

In truth, Sirius had no idea if Remus still lived in King's Lynn. He was simply relying on the hope that Remus hadn't sold the house he inherited from his deceased grandparents and moved away.

_

* * *

Harry brought his sleeve up to his mouth to cover his exaggerated cough. He glanced out the corner of his eye towards the shivering black dog next to him, taking in a secret sense of accomplishment when he saw Sirius look his way._

They were trudging through ankle-deep snow in the hilly countryside east of King's Lynn. Sirius had predicted another day's journey if they continued at a steady pace.

Harry made sure this was not so.

While he was indeed plagued by a cough and sore throat, he had suffered common colds a thousand times worse. While he knew it wasn't a permanent solution, feigning illness was an effective way to delay them several days. As each evening seemed to bring an extra three inches with it, Harry was going on the hope that the snow would become far too deep to travel through on foot. They would have to take shelter somewhere until the storm passed, or, better yet, for the remainder of the winter.

However, Harry's plan seemed to do more than delay them. His constant feigning need for long rests seemed to be the only thing that was giving Sirius the energy to function.

Harry knew Sirius was still ill, and he was also fully aware Sirius was ignoring himself as he tried to care for Harry as best he could.

Harry tried to force Sirius into caring for himself, for he was in a far worse state. Talking to him was as effective as talking to the snow.

Two days earlier, when they were still in Felixstowe, Sirius had tried to get Harry to eat the entire piece of bread he managed to steal while disguised as Padfoot.

Naturally, Harry refused.

"You need to eat something, or you're going to get seriously ill," Sirius had said patronizingly.

"What about you?"

"I already ate."

Harry was anything but convinced. "Fine, but I'm only eating half."

"All of it," Sirius had ordered, rubbing his stiff hands together and blowing into them.

"You're taking the other half," Harry commanded, tearing the bread in two.

"Eat," Sirius ordered, looking over his shoulder at the gray North Sea.

"Not until you do," said Harry stubbornly.

"I'm not eating it."

"Well, neither am I," said Harry simply, shrugging.

Sirius glanced at him before saying wryly, "So you're just going to hang on to it until it becomes as hard as a rock?"

"No," said Harry mysteriously, looking out over the rocky cliffs that met the North Sea head-on. "I'll just give it to someone who will eat it."

"Oh, really? And who might that be?" Sirius asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Without further hesitation, Harry threw the bread as hard as he could over the edge, and into the raging sea. Sirius stared at the spot in which the bread had disappeared, mouth open slightly.

Harry had just thrown their only food into the violent North Sea.

Harry studied Sirius for his reaction with bated breath, expecting an angry demand for an explanation. The last thing he was expecting was for Sirius to start laughing.

Their food had just been donated to the North Sea, and Sirius was laughing. Harry was confused. Was Sirius really so ill that he was going insane?

"All right, fine," Sirius said a moment later, traces of amusement still evident in his voice. He shook his head. "You're just like James."

"My other dad?" Harry blurted, torn between curiosity and confusion.

Sirius' face fell slightly as he was taken aback by Harry's words. "Yes," he said a moment later, a small smile creeping on his face. "In our seventh year, your dad one a bet that had been going on since our first year. I told him there was no way he could convince your mother to date him for all the galleons in the world—"

"Galleons?"

"Wizard gold," Sirius explained. "Anyway, your dad said make it ten, and it would be a deal.

"Of course, he made his own rules, saying he had seven years to convince her, and he didn't manage it until the very end. When I tried to pay up, James wouldn't take it."

"Why?" Harry asked, smiling. Sirius had rarely spoken of his time at Hogwarts since leaving New York. Harry never told him how much he enjoyed the rare stories.

"Your mother had straightened him up, you see," said Sirius, grinning now. "James was always a bit of a prat in school, but matured once he reached seventh year. That's when Lily agreed to go to lunch on a Hogsmede—a village just outside of the school grounds—visit with him.

"So he decided he didn't want his hard-earned winnings," Sirius continued. "When I managed to force the bag in his hand, he just chucked it into the lake."

While Sirius wasn't completely ignoring his own needs anymore, he was still paying a great deal of attention to Harry, far more than he should in Harry's opinion.

"Can we stop for a minute?" Harry asked, seeing Sirius was obviously exhausted.

The black dog looked around to make sure they were completely alone in the deserted, snow-covered hills before transforming back into a man.

"Are you tired?" he asked, removing the wads of cloth tied around his hands to protect them from the snow.

"I just need a short break," lied Harry.

* * *

"_Footprints have been _found up north in Suffolk," Kingsley reported in a slightly weary voice. Crouch immediately placed more pins on the huge map behind his desk. "However," Kingsley continued, "There's no way for us to know whose they are. A majority of them were from a boy and a dog."

Crouch ignored him.

"Black isn't registered as an Animagus," pressed Kingsley.

"Then ring up Lupin."

"Excuse me?"

"Call in Remus Lupin," said Crouch in an annoyed voice. "He was a childhood friend of Black's. He would know if Black was an unregistered Animagus."

"Is there an address?" Kingsley asked in strained politeness.

Crouch rolled his eyes in frustration, and began rummaging through an enormous filing cabinet, flicking through hundreds of manila folders. "Here," he said, slapping one on the desk.

Kingsley picked it up, and nodded curtly to Crouch once before exiting.

The golden lift was crammed with Ministry workers, eager to leave for the day.

"Going home for the day, Kingsley?" asked Amelia Bones, thick folders held heavily in her arms.

"Ah, if only," said Kingsley, shaking his head. "Crouch has sent me on another wild investigation."

"Where to now? China?"

"Norfolk," read Kingsley from a slip of parchment in his folder.

"Not Suffolk?" Amelia asked with a wry smile.

"Not today," Kingsley responded in the same tone. "Some place called 'King's Lynn'."

"That's way out there," she noted as the lift steadied to a halt and the grilles clanged open noisily. "I'll see you around, Kingsley."

As a majority of the occupants exited the lift once it reached the main floor, Frank stayed behind, overcome with a sudden change of plans.

* * *

"_I'm very sorry _to have come calling this late," Kingsley said in his deep, slow voice, taking a seat on the worn couch.

"It's no problem," said Remus, sitting down in a patched chair that didn't quite match.

"Mr. Crouch informs me you were a childhood friend of Sirius Black?"

While Remus had been expecting this topic, his face still took on a stony expression at the question. "Yes, I knew him," he said stiffly.

"Mr. Crouch believes Black may be an unregistered Animagus. Do you know anything of this?"

"What makes him say that?" Remus asked a little too quickly.

"He hasn't disclosed his reasons to me," said Kingsley. "Nor to anyone, I believe."

Remus sighed inwardly. "Yes, he is. He learned in Hogwarts, along with our friends James and Peter."

"Potter and Pettigrew, I take it?" Kingsley asked, making a note.

Remus nodded.

"Do you recall the shape he took?"

Immediately, the image of a large, shaggy black dog came to Remus' mind. "A black dog. Nearly as tall as a Great Dane."

Again, Kingsley made a note of it. Standing up, he said, "Again, my apologies for coming so late. Mr. Crouch's orders."

"No problem," repeated Remus, unsticking his throat and showing Kingsley to the door.

"Have a good evening," he said, before dissaparating on the creaky wooden porch.

_

* * *

Frank was waiting in his cubicle, listening for the distant sounds of the remainder of the straggling employees to leave for the night. He checked his watch impatiently, and saw that it was a quarter past midnight._

"Hurry up," he muttered to himself.

Finally, nearly twenty minutes later, the floating candles that lit the cavernous floor extinguished themselves.

The Ministry was empty.

Frank immediately headed for the rarely-used staircase near the silent golden lift, heading for Crouch's office. When he reached the correct, polished corridor, Frank could see yellow light streaming through a crack in Crouch's open office door. He crept silently towards the office, until he was standing just around the corner of the barely-open door.

"...to Norfolk," came the rough voice of Mad-Eye Moody.

"Yes, but the prints end in Suffolk," came Crouch's tired voice.

"There's currently a snowstorm heading in from the North Sea," said Moody knowingly. "The fresh snow must be masking the newer trails."

There was a long silence. Frank strained his ear and leaned a few inches closer.

"Black's friend Lupin lives in King's Lynn," said Crouch after several minutes.

"You're suggesting Black is heading for his house, are you?" came Moody's amused response.

The brief pause told Frank Crouch was shooting Moody an annoyed glance.

"I doubt he'd be wandering through that particular storm-ridden area on a mere whim," said Crouch. "Clearly he's heading directly towards that area for a reason."

"What I'm curious about is how Black managed to get into the country in the first place without anyone noticing until it was too late," said Moody.

"Aren't we all," said Crouch sardonically. "You may be sure to ask him once we have him arrested."

Frank slipped away, a plan formulating quickly in his mind.

The Ministry was reacting far too slowly; they would let Black slip away for the millionth time. Frank would hunt Black down himself, and this time, he wouldn't let him get away.

He wouldn't let Victor's death pass in vain.

_

* * *

It was New Year's Eve when Sirius and Harry finally reached the familiar cottage ten miles outside of the city limits of King's Lynn. All the lights were out, rendering it impossible for Sirius to tell if Remus was asleep, or simply not home._

His heart was beating furiously against his chest. Despite their epic journey, and the four-year wait, he still had no idea how he was going to do this.

He had to come up with a plan, right then and there.

Sirius glanced down at Harry, who was clinging to his arm and staring silently at the dark cottage.

Now was the time to do the hardest thing he would ever be faced with.

Sirius stepped forward, grasping Harry's hand tightly as they trudged towards the gate with difficulty. However, it wasn't due to the snow.

The walk should have taken at least ten minutes, given all the snow, but it seemed to take a simple blink of an eye. Before they knew it, Harry and Sirius were standing on the rickety front porch, staring at the closed front door.

They stood like that for a long while.

Sirius finally managed to gain a grip on himself, and felt for the loose brick on the left side of the door. Pulling it away, he found the spare key to the house.

Remus didn't seem to have changed much in the past four years.

With a shaking hand, Sirius unlocked the front door. The clicking of the lock seemed to echo like gunfire in the still night air. The door swung open a few inches silently

Sirius stared at the dark entryway, immediately taking in the familiar scratched, wooden floor and the ancient coat rack just inside. Harry reached out for Sirius' hand, clutching him tightly.

Having no idea what he was doing, Sirius led Harry inside the silent house.

Sirius' memory of the place automatically came to life. He unconsciously avoided the infamous creaking floorboards and reached out in total darkness for the light switch.

Sirius had been in the house often enough in the past to know it was empty.

Turning to Harry, he said softly, "Remus isn't home right now, so I'm going to go ahead and tuck you into bed in his room. I'll lock the door behind me, so you'll be fine until he comes back."

Harry gripped Sirius' hand tighter than ever. "Can't you stay with me?" he whispered.

The expression on Harry's face was killing Sirius.

"Please? Just until Remus comes home?"

The idea of facing Remus was torture. However, Sirius owed Harry so much more than that.

"All right," he said softly. "Just until he comes home."

Harry led Sirius over to the worn couch, still in the same spot as it was four years before. Sirius sat down in his old usual place, while Harry tucked his legs underneath him and snuggled up close to Sirius, resting his head on Sirius' chest.

Despite having hardly slept in the past several days, Harry couldn't bear the thought of falling asleep on his last night with Sirius.

He still didn't know how he was going to make him stay.

_

* * *

Remus didn't return home from work until well past midnight. The bookstore had just received a large donation of used books, all of which needed laminating, sorting, and shelving._

He stepped inside his entryway, too tired to notice anything unusual about his lights being on immediately. He hung his heavy overcoat on the rack near the door, and headed for his bedroom, looking forward to the comfortable warmth of his bed.

He stopped dead in the entryway to his living room.

There was a long, shocked silence during which Remus tried to figure out if he was dreaming, hallucinating, or simply seeing things from tiredness.

Sirius Black was sitting on his couch, and a five-year-old Harry Potter was sleeping in his lap.

It was a dream.

Sirius was staring at Remus silently from the couch, his expression completely unreadable. He didn't make any sign of movement.

It had to be a dream...

Remus opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His throat tightened, and a crease formed between his eyebrows. Sirius glanced down at the peaceful Harry before turning back to Remus.

"He's sleeping," was all he said.

It wasn't a dream.

Remus was unable to move, and unable to speak. He was so shocked by what was going on that he didn't even think to whip out his wand. All he could do was watch, paralyzed, as Sirius slowly slipped out from underneath the sleeping Harry, gently setting him back down on the worn couch.

It wasn't until Sirius stood and turned to face him that Remus gained enough of a grip on himself to speak.

"What are you doing here?" was all he managed.

Sirius didn't answer immediately, staring at Remus with fathomless eyes.

It wasn't until then that Remus took in Sirius' appearance. He looked familiar enough, but so drastically different at the same time. He still wore his ancient muggle Converse sneakers, and his black hair was elegantly unkempt, as always. He wore a thrashed-looking sports coat over a faded sweatshirt, and loose muggle jeans. At a half-glance, one would think he hadn't changed at all.

He was much thinner than Remus remembered, and far more worn in appearance, as though a stiff breeze would blow him over. Dark shadows circled underneath eyes that seemed far too old for such a young body, and china blue veins made their presence known beneath pale skin.

He was completely different.

"Harry wanted to wait up for you, but he fell asleep a little while ago."

Even his voice sounded different. Rather hoarse and weary, as though with age.

It was bizarre to hear an American accent coming from him.

Remus closed his mouth and opened it again to reply, but nothing came out. He half-shook his head once, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"He fell ill a while ago," Sirius continued in the same weary, unfamiliar voice. "Perhaps it's best not to wake him."

What was going on?

"It's late," Sirius continued, shrugging. Unless Remus was imagining it, there was a slight apologetic note in his voice. "Harder than you can imagine, really. But he's finally here."

Remus closed his eyes for a moment. Opening them, he said firmly, "Why are you here?"

Sirius gave him a wry smile before answering. "Harry was supposed to grow up here, and we both know it. Unfortunately, it's all been interrupted for four years."

Remus was starting to regain a grip on himself as he managed to find his voice.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Harry asked me to stay until you came home."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I'm just bringing Harry back home—"

"Why?" Remus demanded sharply, his voice stronger now.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, a crease between his eyes.

"Why the sudden change of heart, Sirius?" Remus asked, his voice gaining strength with every word. "Is this some stupid plan to keep you out of Azkaban? Surely you're cleverer than that. Bringing Harry back to England is only going to get you thrown in prison faster."

"I know," Sirius said softly.

Remus stared at him. He didn't know if he was still shocked, or overcome with anger. Perhaps both. It hadn't quite sunk in fully that Sirius Black and Harry Potter were in his living room. "So maybe this is some kind of redemption for you? You murdered thirteen people, Sirius! There's no redemption left for you."

Harry stirred on the couch, but neither Sirius nor Remus noticed.

"I'll let you go, now," said Sirius after a moment's silence. He made to head towards the front door, but Remus suddenly reached out, grabbed Sirius by the front of his jacket, and slammed him roughly against the wall. The items on the bookshelves rattled, and the lamps flickered slightly. Harry opened his eyes, peering around him hazily.

"What are you playing at?" Remus demanded, still holding Sirius against his living room wall. "Do you really think you can just waltz out of here, like nothing happened? Do you really think I can just forget about everything you've done? That I can forget all about how you've completely destroyed all I had left?" Remus shook him roughly. "Do you?" he demanded loudly.

Sirius didn't answer, nor did he try to fight back.

Harry sat up, the fog of sleep lifting rapidly. "What's going on?" he asked tentatively.

For a moment, Remus looked as though he was going to hit Sirius. However, he suddenly let go of him, taking a step back and looking away in disgust.

"Get out," he whispered, staring at a patch of floor several feet away. _Get out of my house. Get out of my thoughts. Get out of my life._

Sirius hesitated for a moment before whispering a soft good-bye to a wide-eyed Harry and exiting through the front door, disappearing into the snowy night.

For a moment Remus forgot Harry was in his living room. He forgot about the fact that he should be notifying the Ministry right now.

He knew he shouldn't have let Sirius leave. He should have stunned and bound him, and waited for the Ministry to arrive. He wasn't supposed to let Sirius Black go.

But Remus couldn't bring himself to do otherwise. Sirius' sudden and unexpected appearance was a violently rude interruption in his recovering life. The only desire he had in him was to make Sirius go away, make it like it had never happened. It would be torture to allow him in his life, in some form or another.

Remus turned to look at Harry sitting on his couch, the first time he had seen him in over four years. Harry's gaze left the door and settled on Remus in turn.

They stared at each other silently for a long time.


	23. hands in the sky

A/N: Woo, new chapter. This is actually part one of two. Or three. The entire portion is rather difficult to write, because it all happens at once, so bear with me.

"It doesn't matter what people say unless you believe them."

-Kay Levitz, The public eye

_Frank waited near _a large sycamore tree, studying the dark, snow-covered lane that led to a distant cottage. The traces of two sets of human footprints—a man's and a young child's—confirmed that Black and Potter had been here, and not too long ago.

It was very late, so much that the time would be considered early.

Frank rubbed his hands together to keep the blood flowing, breathing into his frozen palms. His eyes were alert, rapidly scanning the area for any sign of movement.

Finally, a lone dark shadow could be seen contrasting with the white snow in the distance, coming from the direction of the cottage.

"Bingo," Frank whispered.

He immediately whipped out his wand, moving forward a few steps. He was filled with such anticipation that it wasn't until after he fired a row of stunners, that he realized the shadow was merely a dog.

"Damn it," Frank muttered to himself. If Black was anywhere nearby, he would have seen the direction from which the spells came. Frank had to move.

Stealthily Frank hurried through the open field, toward the direction of the lane. As he approached it, he saw that his victim was indeed a large, shaggy black dog lying motionless in the snow.

Frank looked over his shoulder, studying both ends of the lane. A moment later, he heard the dog stirring into life. Frank ignored him as he scanned the snowy field.

Several meters away, Frank could see imprints in the snow that were clearly human. He followed them with his eyes, and watched as they were replaced by animal footprints.

That didn't make any sense...

A sudden realization occurred to Frank just then, and he whipped around to see the black dog bounding toward him. Before he could lift his wand to react, the dog collided with his chest, sending them flying backwards. Frank's wand flew from his hand and disappeared in the snow.

Frank rolled over and scrambled back to his feet, trying to search for his wand while keeping an eye on the black dog as well. He spotted a long imprint in the snow halfway between himself and the dog—

Frank dove for his wand the same time the black dog made its second leap. Frank barely managed to close his fingers around his wand when the dog collided with him roughly once more, sending them both sideways.

Without hesitation, Frank fired at the dog, narrowly missing it by inches.

A moment later, the black dog transformed into a man.

Frank fired a strain of curses as he rolled over to dodge those sent his own way. He scrambled to his feet and shouted, _"Reducto!_" , knocking Black off his feet. However, barely a second passed before Black returned fire and Frank's wand shot out of his hand and disappeared in the darkness.

Without thinking on it, Frank dove for Black, who was in the process of getting to his feet, and they collided for the third time that night.

Black managed to take advantage of their momentum and flip Frank over him as they fell backwards, but Frank was sure to keep a strong hold on Black's arm.

Tangled uncomfortable in the snow, both Frank and Black tried to get to their feet and overtake their opponent at once. Frank immediately noticed Black still had a hold of his own wand, and made a lunge for it—

Frank felt the top of his skull smack into Black's jaw painfully, momentarily stunning both of them. Frank rolled over, trying to pin Black down awkwardly. He managed to get him at a strange angle on his side, and reached for his wand—

But Black suddenly yelled, _"Relashio!_" and Frank was thrown off of him.

Black tried to get to his feet, but Frank was determined to bring him down, veins surging with adrenaline. He lunged for Black's knees, sending them into the freezing snow once more.

This time Frank's attack was successful; Black's wand flew out of his hand, and like Frank's, disappeared in the snow.

With no wands, their only means of defense, and in Frank's case, offense, was muggle dueling. Immediately the two soaking men began trying to force the other into submission, wrestling in a rather ungainly fashion.

Several times each man nearly succeeded, but their opponent somehow managed to slip away and reverse the situation.

Frank was soaked to the bone, shivering violently in the cold despite the physical fighting. It seemed his burst of adrenaline couldn't keep him warm anymore.

Black appeared to be in even worse shape, but managed to but up an equally strong fight. Frank would have to find a way to bring him down. Once he succeeded, he could hunt for his wand and go from there.

Frank rammed his knee roughly into Black's side, and he immediately retaliated by kicking out, foot connecting painfully with Frank's stomach.

Slightly winded, Frank made to lunge once more at Black, but he somehow managed to get to him first, sending Frank backwards. His head collided painfully with the frozen ground, and bright spots erupted across his vision.

He needed to find his wand. Without considering his chances, Frank yelled, _"Lumos!"_

A dim yellow light suddenly burst into life fifty meters to their right. For a moment, both men paused their muggle fighting to stare at it, equally surprised.

The next few seconds were spent sprinting towards it, purposely ramming into the other man to try and knock him off balance. Frank threw himself bodily into Black, causing them both to return to the snow. Frank immediately got to his feet and kicked Black roughly in the stomach as he tried to stand. Black fell backwards, gasping for breath. Frank took the opportunity to run for the illuminated wand.

The moment his fingers closed around the frozen handle, Frank was thrown sideways. The wand slipped out of his hand, landing several feet away. Once more, he fought Black to get to his feet first, employing every idea he could think of. However, every effective blow he sent was met with one of Black's.

After an intense wrestling, usually performed by bickering ten-year-olds on the living room floor, the wand's light extinguished itself as the spell wore off. Frank cursed loudly, trying to keep an eye on the spot he had last seen the light. He didn't need to lose it again.

It didn't take long until the wand's location was a complete mystery once more.

Frank was completely worn out; he could barely stand upright, let alone continue the fight. Gasping for breath, he stared over at Black, who looked equally exhausted. For a moment both men tried to steady themselves on their feet, breath coming in bright silver clouds.

Frank staggered forward and tried to send a blow at Black's head, but as Black tried to counter the attack, they fell over weakly into the disturbed snow.

_

* * *

Crouch had sent every Auror and Hit Wizard the Ministry possessed for King's Lynn. They were all warned to not only keep an eye out for a man and child, but a large black dog as well. It was nearly one in the morning, but Crouch didn't care about the time._

Fudge came bursting into his office suddenly, looking highly flustered.

"You say you've found Black?" he demanded.

"We know where Black is, and where he may be heading," said Crouch stiffly, pulling a long overcoat over his clothes. He still couldn't understand why Fudge had been elected Minister; the man was a bit of a fool. "I'm sending every able-bodied witch and wizard as we speak. Black won't be able to hide."

Fudge opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. "Has Dumbledore been by?" he asked finally.

Of course. Dumbledore.

"I have not seen him," Crouch answered curtly, stepping around his desk swiftly and exiting his office. Fudge followed. Crouch rolled his eyes slightly. "Do you wish to come, Minister?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Y-yes, of course," said Fudge, sounding slightly surprised. He clearly wasn't cut to be Minister, in Crouch's opinion.

Ten minutes later, they arrived in the frozen, snow-covered fields just outside King's Lynn. Snow was falling thickly from the dark gray sky, filling the remains of what appeared to be a violent scuffle in the older snow.

Crouch motioned for Fudge to be silent as he strode forward. In the distance, dozens of dark figures could be seen approaching a particular area swiftly. In the sharp silence, Crouch could almost make out the sounds of a dying fight. He was taken aback at first; none of his men would have engaged in such a battle with Black. Not only that, but he expected to see flashes of light and the shouts of curses echoing in the air.

It sounded like a muggle duel.

_

* * *

Sirius could hardly stand, let alone continue fighting this man who was clearly hell-bent on ending his life. He had no idea how long their struggle had been going on, but knew it was long enough to take all of their strength away._

His limbs were aching, a sharp pain shot up his side every time he took a breath, and his clothes seemed to have frozen like ice cubes from the damp snow. Sirius looked over at his attacker, and saw that he was just as miserable.

Every now and then they would lunge at each other, trying to deliver a blow here and there, but achieving nothing more than a numb whack or a failed attempt to bring the other man down. It wasn't even really fighting anymore. Neither man had nearly enough energy to keep it up.

Sirius stumbled a few steps sideways, trying to keep his balance. His attacker staggered forward, apparently braving another strike, but his legs gave way and he collapsed ungracefully in the snow. Sirius stared at him for a moment, shaking violently from the cold, before falling over sideways himself.

He tried to get up, but his arms wouldn't work; he couldn't even feel his hands anymore. Sirius was forced to lie in the snow, too weak to move. Judging by the surrounding silence, his attacker was in a similar predicament.

Sirius didn't quite register the sound of the surrounding Aurors firing their stunners.

_

* * *

After a nonexistent night's sleep, Remus rolled off his couch stiffly and made for his dark kitchen. It was very early—perhaps not quite six—but he couldn't bear to lie there any longer._

Remus turned on the dim kitchen light, and immediately his eyes landed on the worn packing box that contained the unused tea kettle stored in the corner. He paused for a moment before walking over to it. With no clear idea why, Remus picked up the untouched kettle, frowning at it as he sat down at his kitchen table.

It seemed removing Sirius Black from his life was impossible.

Remus looked up suddenly, and saw a grim-faced Harry standing there. He jumped in surprise; he still wasn't over the fact that Sirius had been here just hours before, and left Harry behind.

"I couldn't sleep," was all he said. The first words Remus had heard Harry speak since he made nonsense sounds as a baby.

It was incredible how much he already looked like James.

"Are you hungry?" Remus asked, unsticking his throat.

Harry half-shrugged, half-shook his head as he sat down at the kitchen table diagonally across from Remus. He pulled his legs up underneath him, and fixed Remus with a steady gaze.

"You shouldn't be mad at him," he continued, a crease between his eyebrows. Remus found it strange how deadly serious a five-year-old could be.

Remus sighed, chewing his bottom lip. "Harry, I don't know what he's told you all these years, but—"

"I already know what happened," Harry interrupted. "Voldy-mort killed my parents when I was a baby. No one knows why, or how I lived and he disappeared. There was some magic charm, and some Peter guy told where to find us—"

"Wait, what?" Remus interrupted in turn, taken aback.

"Sirius and Peter switched," Harry explained simply.

Remus frowned. "Harry—" he began slowly, but Harry cut him off again.

"He knew you wouldn't believe him," Harry said, shrugging. "He knows no one does, because he said there's no proof. You all think he's a bad man, but he's not—"

"Harry," Remus began in a tone of pity. "Harry, I know you believe him after growing up with Sirius, but you have to know that what he told you—"

"Is the truth," Harry snapped, clearly getting angry on Sirius' behalf. "But no one is asking him about it, are they?" Harry shook his head. "In school they always taught us to hear both sides, otherwise no one knows the truth."

Remus hesitated, not sure how to make Harry understand.

"Adults are always liars," Harry whispered, staring at the table. It was clear that he was referring to more than one situation.

"You need to understand that Sirius lied to you—" Remus tried, but Harry overrode him.

"No!" he said loudly. "He didn't lie! He's not a bad person! You're just too stupid to be okay with it! You're supposed to be his friend, aren't you? Well, you're a stupid friend!"

Harry paused, taken aback with his own outburst. He glanced nervously at Remus, but was too determined to make his point to apologize for what he said.

Remus stared at Harry, frowning. This wasn't right. He sighed, and said softly, "What did he tell you?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, as though suspecting some sort of trap, before answering. "Sirius switched places with a man named Peter. He was also your friend. They didn't tell anyone; it was supposed to be a secret, because everyone was a liar then. But Peter was the bad man, and he told Voldy-mort where my mom and dad were hiding."

It was very hard not to interrupt.

"Sirius found me that night, and brought me to his house. Then he went to look for Peter, because he was angry with him, but Peter blew up the street when he faked his death. He killed a bunch of people, and hid in the sewer as a rat. Sirius told me some people can change into animals.

"Sirius went back to his house and tried to bring me here, but the Ministry of Morons—"

Despite himself, Remus smiled at this.

"—followed us here. They didn't know I was with Sirius, so when they tried to get to him, they almost killed both of us. Sirius took your tea pot and went to the airport. We flew to New York, and we've been hiding there since."

Remus sighed, forgetting he was still holding the tea kettle in his hand. In a bizarre way, it now made sense as to why Sirius had sent it to him. Yet why would he even care to in the first place? That was the one detail that didn't make sense—

Unless—

No. Sirius was the traitor. There was substantial evidence, and he was the Secret Keeper. He was the only one who could have possibly betrayed Lily and James.

"Aren't you even going to give him a chance?" Harry asked, leaning his head against the tall back of the chair.

Remus shook his head. "Things aren't as simple as that—"

"To hear what he has to say before you go back to hating him?" Harry said, frowning. "He never said so, but I know he cares about you at least listening."

"What else did he say?"

Harry stared at him. "Nothing. But I know when he's hiding something really big, even if he doesn't mention it. So I never did either. But I didn't forget it."

Remus looked back down at the tea kettle in his lap.

"He doesn't think you'll forgive him, or even believe him," Harry continued. "I think that's why he didn't want to stay."

Remus frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged. "I asked Sirius to stay, and we would be able to make you believe what really happened. But Sirius wouldn't do it; he just kept saying it would be too much trouble for you. But I think he's just really sad you hate him, and won't even listen."

Remus stared at Harry, unable to think of a response. Everything Harry was telling him was so bizarre; his mind kept going blank with every sentence.

"The way he talked about you when he told me about you, I thought you were really nice," Harry said. "And if that's true, I don't understand how you can be that and still hate Sirius for something he didn't do."

Remus was at a complete loss for a response.

_

* * *

Remus decided the best thing he could do at the moment would be to call for Dumbledore. He was just as shocked at Remus when he heard the news._

Barely a minute later, Dumbledore apparated in the dim entryway. When he entered the kitchen, he and Harry stared at each other for several minutes.

Dumbledore couldn't believe he was really here.

Harry couldn't believe people actually wore the sort of clothes Dumbledore was wearing in real life.

Remus swallowed, looking between Harry and Dumbledore. He had warned Harry in advance that Dumbledore would be coming, and asked him if he knew who Dumbledore was.

"A good wizard, right?" he had said. While this was pretty much correct, it wasn't the answer Remus had been anticipating.

"How are you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked finally, sitting at the end of the table between Remus and Harry.

Harry shrugged. "And you?"

Both Remus and Dumbledore were taken aback by the sudden display of manners. The thought of Sirius Black teaching Harry manners was inane.

"I am a little shocked and relieved, thank you," said Dumbledore, gazing at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Remus tells me Sirius dropped you off here?"

Harry nodded. A dark look came over his face at the name.

"Do you know why?"

Harry sighed. "He says I was supposed to grow up here, in England. It took a long time to get here, though."

"Why would he bring you back?" Dumbledore asked, frowning. Remus could tell by the look on Harry's face that he was already tiring of retelling his story.

"Sirius saved my life when I was a baby," said Harry quickly. "The Ministry almost killed me on accident when they were after Sirius, so we hid in America. Only it was too hard to come back, so we stayed there for four years. Then we went to Argentina, India, some swamp, Turkey, Germany, and a bunch of other places like France. But he's gone, now."

Dumbledore and Remus exchanged glances.

"When you say he saved your life, how do you mean?"

"Sirius tried to drop me off here," said Harry in the same rushed explanatory voice, as though the faster he said it, the less painful it would be to relive everything. "But the Ministry followed. They thought only Sirius was here. So Sirius had to take me with him."

Dumbledore sighed, sitting back in his chair. "What was it like living with Sirius?"

Harry chewed his lip. "It was nice. He took care of me really good, even if it meant him getting hurt or sick., or—" He broke off. "Can—can we not talk about Sirius right now?" he asked in a low voice.

Dumbledore gazed at him sadly. "I'm very sorry, Harry, but I must ask you a few more questions," he said apologetically.

"Sirius is a good man," said Harry heatedly. "He didn't do the things you think he did. That was Peter. He changed into a rat when he blew up the street, making it look like Sirius. He was also the Secret-thing for my parents. Sirius and him changed places without telling anyone, because Sirius thought it would be a better plan. You've been chasing the wrong person for four years."

There was silence at this.

"And I know he's not lying, because if he really was a bad person, he wouldn't have taken care of me the way he did," Harry concluded defiantly. "So stop telling me he lied to me."

* * *

"_The Potter boy _was nowhere to be found," said Kingsley in a weary voice, entering Crouch's office.

Fudge sighed. "There was no trace?"

"We found footsteps about a mile away, but the snow covered up everything since then."

Crouch shook his head. "Start interviewing Black."

Kingsley hesitated.

Crouch rounded on him. "Is there a problem?" he asked coldly.

"Black's in no state to be interrogated at the moment," said Kingsley slowly. "He's being treated right now—"

"I don't care how good or bad Black's condition is, I want to know where Potter is, and I want to know now."

"Very well," said Kingsley through pursed lips. He left the office.


	24. the chairman's waltz

A/N: Part two

"Being undead isn't being alive."

-E.E. Cummings

_Crouch entered the _small stone interrogation room the same moment Dumbledore left the small cottage in King's Lynn, a thick manila folder and notebook in his hand. He was overcome with a sense of accomplishment that he had finally captured Sirius Black.

Now he had to find out where Potter was.

Black was lying slumped forward in his chair on the wooden table, head in his arms. Was he sleeping?

Crouch cleared his throat, annoyed. Black didn't move.

Highly impatient, Crouch slammed the folder and notebook loudly on the table. Black jerked awake, sitting up slowly. He glanced at Crouch before rubbing his eyes.

Crouch sat down in the chair across from him, wondering how long this was going to take. "Where is Harry Potter?"

Black lowered his shackled hands to his lap, and gazed at Crouch, as though bored with the entire affair. "He's with Remus Lupin. I dropped him off at the house a few hours before you lot showed up."

Crouch stared at him. Was this a trick?

"He's at Lupin's house?" Crouch repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes," Black answered simply.

Crouch sighed. "You aren't going to make this any easier on yourself if you play games," he said coldly.

Black merely stared back at him with a similar expression on his gaunt face. "Harry is with Remus Lupin," he repeated.

Crouch shook his head, standing up. He gathered his folder and blank notebook before exiting the room roughly. He didn't have time for this. He slammed the heavy door shut behind him.

"Well?" said Moody when Crouch emerged.

"Black claims Potter was dropped off at Lupin's house," answered Crouch. Moody frowned.

"I wonder why he would do such a thing," he said. It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"And he won't admit otherwise, so there's only one way to find out," said Crouch curtly, striding down the long corridor and up a flight of winding stairs. Just as he reached the main floor of the Ministry, he was suddenly met with Albus Dumbledore.

"I can save you the trouble, Barty, and inform you that Black is telling the truth. Harry Potter is indeed with Remus Lupin, safe and sound. Remus notified me not long ago."

"Potter is still with Lupin, then?" Crouch asked sharply.

"Indeed he is."

"Well, we'll have to bring the both of them here at once. Interview them both; Potter especially."

"I've already taken care of that," said Dumbledore calmly, although he appeared quite weary.. Crouch stared at him, eyes narrowed slightly. Dumbledore, trying to do Crouch's job for him?

"How so?" he asked with strained politeness.

"Sirius Black arrived at the small cottage in King's Lynn shortly before midnight, and waited for Remus Lupin to arrive. When he did, he left Harry in his care, and left the house. A few hours later, Black was captured.

"Harry appears to be as sane as we could have hoped, although he appears to be confused about particular details, and refuses to hear otherwise. Other than that, he is completely unharmed."

"And do you know why that might be?" Crouch asked tightly.

"I have no idea," said Dumbledore simply. "But I really do believe it is too soon to interview Harry. He's been through an enormous ordeal. I have already spoken to Cornelius, and he agrees—"

_Because you were the one who brought it up, _Crouch thought dully. He still couldn't believe how a bumbling idiot like Fudge became Minister. He was always seeking advice for his every move from Dumbledore. Crouch wouldn't be surprised if Fudge asked Dumbledore which tie he should wear with his suit and robes each morning.

"But I must ask," Dumbledore continued. "How are you getting along with Black?"

"I'm not," said Crouch, bitterness in his voice. "I wasn't allowed to interview him until just over an hour ago, and all I got was the same response."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with curiosity. Crouch debated whether he should continue or have a good yell in his office. "Black's only response to our question—the location of Potter—was that he was at Lupin's house—"

"And so he is," said Dumbledore. "How very interesting."

"Oh?" said Crouch, eyebrows raised. "How so?"

"This entire situation is very peculiar, Barty, as I'm sure you've noticed," said Dumbledore. "Black cares for Harry as though he were a surrogate father, returns him to England at risk for his own life, and tells you exactly what you need to hear during the interrogations. I don't believe any of us were expecting such behavior."

"Black is locked in the third interrogation room, eighth door to the left if you'd like to interview him yourself," Crouch snapped, getting angry. He was the one who captured Black. He was the one who had been hunting him for four years, and found him on sporadic and aged evidence. He should be the one who ran the interrogations, who controlled the entire case. It was his job, after all. _His _job.

"Oh, no," said Dumbledore. "I'm not sure I'm authorized to interrogate Black."

"Really."

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore calmly. "But also—before I forget—Cornelius would like to discuss Black's case with you in his office. I told him I would send for you."

Crouch felt a twinge of annoyance. He was the slave to a bumbling idiot now, was he?

"Very well," he said curtly, and strode past Dumbledore.

While he felt triumphant over the capture of Black, nothing else seemed to be going right. There was so much confusion. Crouch didn't like having to be told by Dumbledore—or anyone for that matter—where the Potter boy was. That was his job to know.

There had been so much confusion during Black's arrest. But that wasn't Crouch's fault. He was in charge of bringing Black to London; searching the area was up to the Aurors.

They clearly didn't do their job correctly. And Crouch was the one who had to suffer for it. He could just imagine the headlines of all the papers if it weren't for the fact that Lupin had called for Dumbledore.

He hated having to be thankful for someone else doing his team's work.

As Crouch headed towards Fudge's office, he tried to focus on the fact that Potter was safe, and Black had been successfully arrested. The finer details didn't matter at the moment; they never mattered.

That's the most important thing to understand when working in the Ministry.

Crouch entered Fudge's office, and immediately noticed how ecstatic Fudge appeared. Crouch assumed Fudge could only imagine how Black's arrest and Potter's safety would boost his career.

Great. The blundering idiot who couldn't even run an investigation for himself was going to get the credit for Black's capture.

"We are bringing Harry Potter directly here tomorrow," said Fudge when he noticed Crouch had entered. "We want to let him have a sleep, calm down a bit before we question him. It's a miracle he's alive at all, and in safe hands...

"Frank Anson was taken to St. Mungo's for treatment. Er, we're not sure how to punish—or reward—him. Technically, he was the one to find Black first and stall him, but he also got in the way of the investigation twice. Any suggestions?"

Crouch raised an eyebrow. Surely Fudge would be asking Dumbledore, as always? "Have you spoken with him yet?"

"Er, no, I haven't," said Fudge, frowning. "And I really don't know how he found Black in the first place."

Crouch rolled his eyes when Fudge wasn't looking. "Let him keep his job. If it'll shut the media up, give him the Order of Merlin as well, if you must."

Fudge chewed his bottom lip, nodding. Then he continued, "Well, now that the search is over, you're free to return to your normal job."

Crouch felt like strangling Fudge, but managed to keep his composure.

"However," Fudge continued slowly. "I don't think we would have ever captured Black if you hadn't lead the investigation. I'll understand completely if you'd rather be done with the whole affair—Merlin knows I do—but I think we'd be able to question and sentence Black much more smoothly if you led the interrogations."

Crouch stared at him. "You want me to take over Black's case?"

Fudge hesitated. "Well, sort of. If you'd rather not, that's no problem, I can ask Madam Bones—"

"I suppose I can take over," said Crouch smoothly. If he could get important information out of Black, he would finally get recognition for his hard work.

Fudge looked relieved. "Thank Merlin. You don't know how much of a relief this is, Barty. There's so much going on right now. I'm getting owls left and right, and I wouldn't be surprised if the story already managed to leak its way on the _Prophet_."

Crouch simply nodded before exiting the room. In truth, he was hoping the news would be all over the papers. That way, questions of why Black returned to England would arise. If Crouch was able to break Black, he would finally receive the glory he had worked so hard for his entire career.

The glory he deserved.

_

* * *

Harry waited in Remus' living room, staring at all the bizarre nick-knacks and aged books lining shelves that were leaning against wallpapered walls. Remus was in the kitchen preparing breakfast; Harry had the distinct impression that Remus was very uncomfortable with the entire affair._

Well, Harry himself wasn't very happy about it either.

Harry's mind wandered over to Sirius. He wondered how he was doing, and where he was. Was he leaving the country on foot, or with magic this time? And where was he going? Back to New York, or somewhere new?

Just as Harry became lost in his thoughts, a loud crack interrupted them suddenly. Harry jumped, and was surprised to see Dumbledore standing there. He had just left barely half an hour ago.

Dumbledore nodded once to Harry before striding into the kitchen, a rather peculiar expression on his face. Harry leaned forward on the couch slightly, following the wizened man with his eyes.

"Remus?" Dumbledore called into the kitchen from the end of the entryway.

"Yes?" came Remus's voice. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway. Seeing the look on Dumbledore's face, he added, "What is it?"

Dumbledore glanced once at Harry before answering quietly, "They've captured Sirius Black."

"What?" Harry exploded, jumping to his feet. Remus stared silently at Dumbledore.

"How long ago?" he asked in a low voice.

"Apparently only a few hours after he left here," answered Dumbledore. "When I went to the Ministry to notify them we had Harry at last, Fudge told me they captured Black mere hours before. Apparently he was about a mile from here, and ran into a man named Frank Anson, who apparently was the one who led the secret hunt for Black not long ago. It appears they dueled for well over an hour—wands were found meters away, so they must have been fighting in a muggle fashion for quite some time. Both suffered relatively mild injuries, and ended up with hypothermia. Anson is currently being treated in St. Mungo's, and should be released this afternoon. Black, however, is currently undergoing intense interrogation in the Ministry of Magic."

Both Harry and Remus stared at Dumbledore wordlessly, though for slightly different reasons.

"Let me see him," said Harry finally, breaking the silence.

Dumbledore turned to him. "I'm afraid no one but Ministry officials is allowed to, Harry."

"I don't care!" Harry shouted, kicking the couch. "He's innocent! They're going to kill the wrong man!"

Remus stared at Harry for a moment, before turning sharply to Dumbledore for confirmation.

"Sirius Black's sentence has not yet been decided," said Dumbledore wearily.

"But you know it's going to happen!" Harry countered. "They won't listen to him, just like you won't listen to me! He's innocent! If he really did all the things you think he did, why did he keep me alive? Why did he take care of me so well all my life?"

"Harry—"

"Why did he always make sure I was happy, or let me go to the school I wanted to, even though it was so far away? Why did he hide me when we had a crazy stalker after us, but didn't care for himself? Why did he bring me back here if he was really a crazy murderer? Why would he save my life over and over again? Why would he always make sure I was warm, or healthy, or had enough to eat, even if it meant he was sick, freezing, and starving?"

Dumbledore and Remus sighed in unison.

"I want to talk to the Minister man," said Harry flatly. "Now."

Dumbledore turned to Remus. They both agreed the situation rather ironic, considering the Ministry would jump at the first chance to interview Harry.

"You can go tomorrow," said Dumbledore. "I'll take you there myself—"

"I want to go _now,_" Harry repeated. "Who knows what they would have done to Sirius by then?"

"Sirius Black's interrogation is going to take days, if not weeks," said Dumbledore. "And then there's the issue of a trial. Nothing will happen to him before then."

Harry rolled his eyes disbelievingly. "There's nothing wrong with me. I don't need to rest, I'm not going to wait."

Dumbledore turned to Remus, a weary expression on his face. Remus merely shrugged, not knowing what was the better choice.

"All right," said Dumbledore calmly, turning back to Harry. "I'll take you there after you've finished your breakfast."

"But—"

"After breakfast."

_

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Harry was being led out of a large, golden elevator and down an elaborate, highly-polished wooden corridor. The ceiling was comprised of charmed frescoes that moved about the hanging chandeliers, their images reflecting on the polished floor. Harry followed Dumbledore inside a particularly grand-looking office._

A rather portly man in a pinstriped suit with graying hair was sitting behind the desk, on top of which rested a bright green bowler derby. Harry stared at the Minister of Magic when he looked over in surprise.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, Harry defiantly and Fudge with surprise, until he turned to Dumbledore for confirmation.

"Harry stated quite clearly that he would like to speak with you regarding Sirius Black," said Dumbledore, gesturing to a chair for Harry.

"Really," said Fudge with interest, turning back to face Harry, who nodded silently. He crossed his arms and absentmindedly kicked his dangling feet, toes barely scraping the floor. Fudge took in Harry's worn but defiant appearance, and said kindly, "What is it you'd like to talk about?"

"Sirius is innocent," said Harry firmly. Fudge stared at him for a moment, chewing his bottom lip.

"Did he tell you this?"

"Not exactly."

"How do you mean?"

Harry sighed slightly. It was clear he was tired of repeating himself over and over to people who wouldn't listen. "Sirius told me what really happened four years ago, and let me believe what I wanted to. He didn't say 'Don't listen to those idiots, I'm right' or anything like that."

Fudge glanced at Dumbledore before turning back to Harry.

"What did he say happened four years ago?"

In the pause that followed, Dumbledore said, "If you don't mind, Cornelius, I'd actually like to speak with Sirius Black myself."

Fudge shrugged. "If you'd like," he said with a slight frown. "I must warn you, I'm not sure how far you're going to get with him. We've been interrogating him since the moment he arrived."

"I should like to try," said Dumbledore, nodding once before leaving the office. Through the closed door, he could hear Harry launch into the story he had been explaining all morning.

Dumbledore headed down several floors to the courtrooms, and made his way to the proper interrogation room. As he approached, he found an annoyed-looking Crouch emerge.

"The Minister is upstairs if you are looking for him, Albus," said Crouch.

"I have just seen him," Dumbledore responded conversationally. "I asked if I could question Black myself, and he has given me complete permission."

Crouch stared at him for a moment, before heading up the stone staircase and calling over his shoulder, "Suit yourself."

Dumbledore undid several heavy iron latches on the door, and knocked once before opening it.

The room was small and square in shape, with aged brick walls and visible rickety piping. In the middle of the stone floor stood a rectangular wooden table and two chairs, one of which was occupied. Sirius Black glanced tiredly over at the new questioner, and jumped slightly when he saw who it was.

"Harry is currently upstairs with Cornelius Fudge—the new Minister of Magic, I don't know if you ever heard—and is defiantly arguing your case," said Dumbledore, closing the heavy door. He sat down in the empty chair across from Sirius, and gazed firmly at him. There was no blue twinkle in his eye. "Why did you bring him back?" he asked finally, frowning.

There was silence before Sirius answered in a failing voice, "It was never my intention he come with me when I left England. I tried to bring him to Remus' house, but the Ministry showed up. When they tried to bring me down, they almost killed Harry in the process. I couldn't think straight. I had to bring him with me."

"Where did you go?"

Sirius tried to clear his throat, but his voice was as hoarse as ever. "The first flight that left Southampton was to New York City. After a few nights of staying in random motels, I realized it was populated enough that I could easily hide. I waited for the chaos to die down so I could bring Harry back here. Unfortunately, it took four years."

"All this time, you've been waiting? Just to bring Harry back to England?"

Sirius nodded.

"Tell me about the incident in New York City back in November," said Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair.

"My neighbor's ex-boyfriend somehow found out who I was, and threatened myself and Harry. He kept leaving messages on my answering machine, and following me everywhere I went. I didn't know who it was at the time. I left Harry with Emily, and I hid a note in his belongings with Remus' address."

"What did you do?"

"I waited for him to come for me, actually. He never did. I booked a flight to France, but he somehow found out and managed to ground the flight. I took Harry, and we left the state on a Greyhound bus."

"What about this incident involving muggle weapons in an apartment building?"

Sirius sighed, leaning back in his chair slightly. "After we left the airport, we went back to my flat in Greenwich. I hid Harry beforehand, and went there alone. I found Emily's ex-boyfriend with a gun in hand, hell-bent on shooting both of us."

"Why both of you?"

Sirius shrugged. "I can imagine why he'd shoot me, but I've never figured out why he'd go after Emily. My neighbor," he added. "It was chaos. I managed to stun Sean, but then Emily turned on me as well. I stunned her, and left the flat through the window."

"Why did Emily turn on you? You make it sound like she trusted you beforehand," said Dumbledore, frowning.

"She did. But Sean somehow managed to convince her otherwise. I assume he showed her a few old _Daily Prophets."_

"Why did you go back to your flat?"

"To warn Emily," Sirius answered dully. "My Stalker had threatened her earlier, and I was worried he'd go for her. In a way, I was right."

Dumbledore nodded, then said, "And your journey all over the world? Any particular reason for such a bizarre path?"

"The Ministry kept coming after us at all the wrong moments, so I left on whatever I could. In Argentina, we snuck on a barge headed for India. We made our way north, and ran into four wizards on the Pakistan border."

"Frank Anson and his men," confirmed Dumbledore. "Anson is the man you muggle-dueled with a few hours ago in the snow. I don't know if you ever caught word of it, but a close friend of Frank's—I believe his name was Victor—died that night in the Rann. Apparently he was hit with a stunner—there's no way to know who fired it—and drowned in the marshes that night."

Dumbledore gauged by Sirius' expression that he hadn't heard.

"Our most plausible reason for why Anson would come after you alone in the middle of the night is his desire for revenge. Apparently he blames you for the death of his friend."

Sirius didn't answer as he stared at a corner of the table with a stony expression.

"The Ministry received word that you and Harry took shelter in a Turkish monastery for two weeks," Dumbledore continued. Sirius nodded.

"Harry apparently ran across a nun that night, and she took us in." He shrugged. "I can't tell you much more, I was unconscious the entire time."

Dumbledore nodded, placing his fingertips together. "And the incident in Moldova?"

_

* * *

Harry waited for Fudge's reaction when he finished telling his story for what seemed like the millionth time that morning. The Minister seemed flustered, weary, and shocked all at once, and if Harry weren't so worried about Sirius, he would have found it rather amusing._

"The entire time you were on the run—since November, I mean—you say Black took care of you?" Fudge asked, rubbing his temples.

"Yes," Harry answered defiantly. "He always made sure I was warm, had enough to eat, and rested whenever I needed to. When my feet would hurt from all the walking, Sirius would carry me."

"Has Black treated you this way all your life?"

"He's taken better care of me than anyone else could have."

Fudge sighed. "Did Black ever perform any spells on you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did he—did he ever use his wand on you?" Fudge said, trying to simplify his question.

"A few times," Harry answered. He could tell Fudge's heart suddenly began to race.

"What did he do?" Fudge pressed earnestly.

"One of them was to make me invisible, and the other to keep my clothes from getting wet." Harry watched with satisfaction as Fudge's face fell slightly.


	25. requiem

A/N: And part three...

"To understand is to forgive, even oneself."  
-Alexander Chase

_Late that evening, _Dumbledore brought an indignant Harry to Remus Lupin's cottage. Harry strode in an angry silence to the bathroom, where he refused to come out.

"It went that well, then?" Remus asked, eyebrows raised, as he stared down the hallway where Harry had disappeared.

"Fudge refuses to listen to everything Harry says," said Dumbledore wearily, helping himself to a mug of tea from the stove. "Harry argued for hours—it was a miracle I could convince him to come back here with me, actually. Fudge thinks Harry has either been seriously confounded about facts, or he's been subjected to some sort of spell to keep him arguing in Sirius' Black's favor."

"Fudge thinks Harry was charmed to listen to what Sirius said?" Remus asked, frowning.

"Something along those lines, yes," sighed Dumbledore, sitting down at the rickety kitchen table in the small, adjacent parlor. Remus followed. "I did speak to Black for quite some time."

Remus stared at him, a knot in his chest. "And?" he said as casually as he could.

"Not only does his account of their past two months' journey match Harry's perfectly, and with more detail, but it matches all the evidence the Ministry has been able to collect since November."

There was silence at this.

"Did he tell you anything else?" Remus asked tightly, crossing an ankle over a knee.

"He did," said Dumbledore slowly. "After he recounted his rather misadventurous journey back to England, I asked him about his time in New York, and earlier.

"Apparently he lived under a muggle guise in Greenwich Village, in New York City the entire four years, working in a muggle automotive repair shop. He sent Harry to school at a private institution—Harry's choice, he said—and allowed his neighbor to watch Harry for him when he wasn't at home."

Remus chewed his bottom lip. "And before?"

Dumbledore sighed before saying, "He told me about the events of Halloween night four years ago."

There was something in his voice that told Remus there was something unusual that still needed to be said. "And?"

Dumbledore sighed once more, placing his fingertips together before answering. "He admitted wholeheartedly that he was to blame for the death of Lily and James Potter." Dumbledore paused before continuing. "However, he said it was not he who betrayed the Potters to Voldemort—"

Remus laughed humorlessly at this. "Is that what he said? Where does he get the logic in this?"

"Sirius claims he and Peter Pettigrew switched places at the last moment without telling anyone. Peter was the one, according to him, who told Lord Voldemort of James' and Lily's whereabouts."

Remus stared at him. "That's a little too convenient, don't you think?" he said bitterly. It was one thing for Sirius to deny he'd done anything wrong, but it was another when he tried to pin the blame on someone he'd killed.

"Sirius said he thought Voldemort was more likely to go after him; he thought himself too obvious of a choice. He said he persuaded Lily and James to switch to Peter. He thought you were the spy, and therefore never said a word.

"He went to check on Peter that night at his hiding place, and when he found he'd gone, he headed straight for the Potter's. That's when he realized what had happened. He took Harry to his own flat, and went after Peter."

Dumbledore sighed. "He came across him in a muggle street shortly before noon the next day. Peter apparently yelled for the entire street to hear that Sirius had betrayed Lily and James, before cutting his finger off, blowing up the street with his wand behind his back, and transforming into a rat and hiding in the sewer." Dumbledore paused. "When did you all find time to become Animagi?" he asked.

Remus was taken aback by the question. Not just because Dumbledore sounded simply curious, but because he hadn't expected him to know. "In school," he said finally. "I never told them I was a werewolf, and when they found out, they became Animagi to keep me company during the full moon."

"Ah, clever," said Dumbledore. He hesitated, demeanor changing completely, then continued, "Once Sirius realized the full extent of the situation, he hurried back to his apartment. He tried to bring Harry here, but the Ministry followed. He stole your tea kettle, transformed it into a Portkey, disappeared to Southampton, and took the first muggle airplane out of the country. To New York." Dumbledore's eyes fell on the tea kettle currently hidden by an upturned cardboard box in the corner of the kitchen. "I imagine it was Sirius who sent you the new tea kettle?"

Remus stared at him. There was something wrong in the relaxed way Dumbledore spoke. "This is what Sirius told you?"

Dumbledore turned back to him, leaning back in the chair. "Yes," he said finally.

"And what do you make of it?"

Dumbledore didn't answer immediately.

"You believe him," Lupin whispered, surprised and appalled.

"I didn't say that," said Dumbledore calmly.

"But it's true," Remus said loudly, standing up suddenly. "You believe every word he said—"

"I think there are many great misunderstandings," said Dumbledore firmly.

Remus threw his hands in the air in frustration. "How can you believe him?" he shouted.

Dumbledore stared at him before answering softly, "Are you really so certain he's guilty?"

"Are you so certain he's not?" Remus countered hotly.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "No one can be certain of anything until the truth is out," he said. "The Ministry seems to be finding excuses to lock him up as soon as possible rather than interrogating him properly. Surely you've noticed nothing seems to fit the way the Ministry wants it to?"

Remus kicked out at his chair angrily. It hit the table roughly, and nearly fell over. "He's not innocent!"

"How do you know?"

"Because the world would have gone mad if he were!" Remus shouted. "It means I helped supply evidence to wrongly convict him! It means I've tried to hate him all these years for nothing! It means I turned him away and allowed him to be arrested! It'll be my fault when he's thrown in Azkaban, and my fault when the Ministry decides to off him completely—" Remus stopped, unable to find words to express himself properly. "He's not innocent," he said in much calmer tones. "He can't be."

Dumbledore gazed at him sadly. "I don't know if he is or not," he said softly. "But I know there is a great deal of serious misunderstandings."

Remus shook his head, biting his lower lip. "No," he muttered. "It wouldn't be right."

Dumbledore frowned. "How do you mean?"

Remus shut his eyes tightly before answering. "Do you know how absolutely illogical the world would be if Sirius were innocent? That's like—disproving the laws of gravity. Nothing would make sense," he said tightly. He hesitated, then added, "This couldn't happen if he were innocent. It's too—insane."

Dumbledore studied him pityingly for a moment. "Because you don't believe it, or because you wouldn't be able to accept it?"

"Because it isn't right!" Remus shouted. "This doesn't happen to innocent men! And it's clearly happening, so there's no way—!" Remus stopped. He turned to Dumbledore sharply. "If you had to choose," he said calmly. "Which do you think it is?"

Dumbledore gazed at Remus for a long while before answering. "I don't think it fits," he said finally.

Remus swept silently from the room.

* * *

"_Have you gotten _anything new?" Fudge asked as Crouch poured himself a large cup of coffee.

"If you count wheezing and the occasional bout of nearly coughing to death, then yes," snapped Crouch. "Otherwise nothing at all. Just the same exact story Potter relayed to you this morning."

Fudge sighed. "Can't we give him Veritaserum?"

"No," Crouch answered dully. "The law forbids us to use Veritaserum to interrogate suspects and criminals unless we have the consent of a legal relative. And seeing as how Black's relatives are either dead or insane in Azkaban, that leaves asking Black. And even if he does agree to it for some mad reason, he would be aware enough to fight the effects and lie through his teeth. It would be a waste."

"Can't—can't we get someone to vouch for Black?" Fudge implored in a strained voice.

"I doubt it," said Crouch in the same weary tones. "It won't matter for much longer. He's due to be shipped off to Azkaban tomorrow evening while he awaits trial."

Fudge sighed in exasperation. "Then what are we supposed to do?"

"Keep him awake," commanded Crouch, leaving the dark and deserted cafeteria. "He's got to crack sometime."

Fudge hesitated, then left in the opposite direction.

How wonderful it felt to give orders to Fudge.

* * *

"_What number is _this?"

Fudge checked his notes. "I believe this is fifty-four."

Sirius closed his eyes in exhaustion for a moment, then resumed staring dully at the wall across from him. He wasn't sure how long he had been in here, being questioned by one Ministry official after another, but it certainly felt like a lifetime.

Fudge chewed his lower lip, staring at Sirius with annoyance. "Why don't you try telling us something _other _than this interesting tale? Something new. Logical, perhaps."

Sirius glanced slowly at Fudge for a moment before saying wearily, "Marsupials in Australia occasionally resort to cannibalistic behavior when there isn't much food."

Fudge stared at him. Sirius wondered what new surge of annoyance Fudge was feeling at his response, but found he didn't really care.

"Really?" said Fudge in flat tones, staring at Sirius with one raised eyebrow.

Sirius turned back to the wall, amazed he was even able to keep sitting. He was absolutely exhausted. "Really."

Fudge sighed in exasperation, sitting back in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye Sirius saw him check his watch. Either he had a great deal of press conferences to attend, or it was very late.

"What is your plan for all this?" Fudge asked finally, waving a hand expectantly. Sirius turned his gaze on him, still unmoving. "Harry Potter claims you cared for him, and none of our witnesses can confirm otherwise. You brought him back to England. Why? Is this some attempt to stir up enough trouble to keep yourself out of Azkaban?"

"If that was the plan, I wouldn't have come back in the first place," Sirius muttered, closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of his wooden chair. His lungs were starting to hurt, and every breath came with a strained effort and a wheeze.

"Are you saying your plan was to be arrested, then?" Fudge asked in confused tones.

"Not to be rude, Minister, but we've been over this before."

Fudge shook his head in annoyance. "Yes, but let's try the truth this time, Black. You are wasting your time playing games."

Sirius sighed, his chest constricting tightly as he did so. He turned his head slightly to look at Fudge. "And you're wasting your time trying to get me to invent a horde of horror stories."

"Would you prefer to be shipped to Azkaban tonight?" Fudge asked tightly, eyebrows raised.

Sirius returned to his original position, and closed his eyes once more. "I would be insane to say yes, wouldn't I? But I don't have any say in the matter."

_

* * *

The next morning, Harry returned for a second round of interviews. He wasn't sure how he felt about the entire situation; he wasn't even entirely sure what he felt about Sirius. He was worried about him, yes, but he was also angry with him._

If he had just listened, and stayed at Remus' house, he wouldn't have been arrested. He wouldn't be killed for something he didn't do.

It was this last part that scared Harry the most. Would they be allowed to kill Sirius? Did they kill people in England?

Harry fidgeted slightly in his chair, and fixed a steady gaze on the tall, bald Auror sitting across from him. He had a shiny, dark head, and a single golden earring. His voice was deep like that of a monster, but it sounded much kinder. If it weren't for the fact he was one of the people trying to lock Sirius up forever, if not kill him, Harry might have liked the man.

"He didn't do it," said Harry stubbornly as the man picked up his quill for note-taking.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because he's telling the truth," Harry said simply. The man simply stared back at him.

"Did he tell you that?"

"Tell me what?"

"That his story is what really happened?" Kingsley asked kindly.

"It's not a story, it's real," said Harry exasperatedly.

"When did he tell you that happened?" the man asked, changing directions slightly.

"A while ago."

"How long is that?"

Harry gazed around the man's office, thinking. "A few months ago. After Halloween, but before Thanksgiving."

"So in November?"

Harry nodded. Kingsley made a note of it.

"What about before that?"

"What?"

"What did he tell you before November? Did he say anything to you about being a wizard?"

Harry bit his lip. "He told me everything at the same time."

"That's a lot to take in at once," said Kingsley sympathetically. Harry shrugged. "When you lived in New York, you went by a false name. Adam Thomas?"

Harry nodded.

"So he lied to you," said Kingsley slowly. "He told you that your name was Adam Thomas instead of Harry Potter."

"He had to," said Harry defensively. "He made one up for himself, too, so we could hide."

"But you didn't know they were false names, did you?" Kingsley asked. "Until you had to leave New York, you thought that was who you really were."

"That's because I might have accidentally told someone."

"How so?"

"If Sirius told me when I was two years old, I wouldn't have understood what he was talking about. If he told me when I was three or four, I might have told someone what my real name was, or say something about magic."

"I see," said Kingsley slowly. "So how do you know Sirius Black is telling the truth?"

"How do you know he's not?"

"All the evidence is stacked against him," said Kingsley knowingly. "We have eye-witnesses, dozens of them."

"They're lying then."

"No, they're not."

"How do you know?"

"Because if their stories didn't match, we could use a truth potion."

"So give Sirius some of that, and he'll say the same thing!"

"That's the problem," said Kingsley, leaning back in his chair. "Many wizards can fight the effects of a truth potion and lie away."

Harry glared at him. "He's telling the truth!"

"How can you be so sure?" Kingsley pressed, frowning. "He's lied to you your entire life. How do you know he's not lying about this?"

"I just do," said Harry defiantly, crossing his arms.

He didn't mention that, for the first time, he was a little uncertain.

_

* * *

The moment Kingsley relayed the interview to Crouch, he said, "Potter said to give Black a truth potion?"_

"Well, yes," said Kingsley. "But you know as well as I do that he has no actual authority to. He's just a kid who was abducted by Black four years ago, and now he looks to Black like a father. Besides, Black's beyond capable of lying through Veritaserum."

"Yes, I know," said Crouch smoothly. "I was just making sure I didn't hear you wrong." He sighed. "Make copies of the interview. Three for the records, and another for Fudge to look over."

When Kingsley left the office, Crouch moved to his fireplace in the back of his office. He opened a ceramic vessel on his mantle, and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the grate. "Send me the records of Sirius Black's being godfather to Harry Potter immediately."

If the records proved Black was Potter's legal guardian following the deaths of Potter's parents, then Harry's stubborn outburst would be valid to administer Veritaserum to Black. He was certainly in a weak enough condition, so even if he was aware of what was going on, Crouch doubted very much whether Black would be able to fight it off.

Crouch would be able to get Black to admit to everything, and maybe even spill some secrets previously unheard by other Death Eaters.

Crouch would be renowned once more.

Dawlish returned several moments later, a large manila folder in hand.

"I have the papers of Black's legal guardianship over Harry Potter," he announced as he entered the office.

"Fetch the most potent bottle of Veritaserum we have," said Crouch, standing up. "I'll meet you downstairs."

_

* * *

Remus sat at his aged, wooden table, staring at the polished surface of the tea kettle in his hands. The lights were off, and the bright glow of the snow outside was reflecting off the kettle's surface. Harry had retired wordlessly to the attic bedroom Remus had prepared that afternoon._

The argument with Dumbledore kept replaying in Remus' head as though his thoughts were a tape recorder stuck on repeat. _I don't think it fits. _

Remus had tried to block Dumbledore's words from his mind, dismissing them as a fault of Dumbledore's ability to trust easily. It was, however, impossible.

The worst thing about it was, Remus was starting to see where Dumbledore was coming from. It was not only logical when contemplated, it made far more sense of everything that had happened. It was in fact possible that Sirius Black was innocent.

And that was what scared Remus the most.

_

* * *

Harry sat silently by the single, French glass window in the heated attic, staring at the sliver of a moon reflecting on the snow below._

Sirius was innocent. It was the Ministry who had it all wrong. They just wouldn't listen, and were idiots for trying to convince Harry otherwise. Sirius never...he was innocent.

Harry sighed, biting his lower lip.

_No, _he told himself firmly. _They're just trying to confuse you so they can lock Sirius away forever. He took care of you; he's a good person._

Just then a dark figure emerged from a side door, and made their way across the snow. Harry watched as Remus headed several yards across the frozen snow until he stopped by an odd-shaped mound. He pulled out his wand and a moment later, the snow blew away like a bomb had exploded from the inside. Harry stared at him as Remus bent down and picked up a square-shaped object, turned around, and headed back inside.

_

* * *

Crouch emerged from the interrogation room, sighing heavily. He leaned against the door wearily._

"What do you propose we do now?" asked Dawlish uncertainly. "Should we send for an expert to determine if Black's just lying away—?"

"No," said Crouch firmly. He shut his eyes tightly. "You have the records of the interrogation?"

"Yes, sir," said Dawlish, gesturing to a thick folder in his arms.

"Lock up today's interview," said Crouch. "And erase it from any other records that might exist."

"Sir?"

"This interview with Black never happened," said Crouch curtly, striding down the dark corridor and out of sight.


	26. the photograph

A/N: Instead of studying for finals, I keep copping out with more chapters. Cool.

"Those who would sacrifice liberty for security deserve neither."  
-Benjamin Franklin

Crouch returned home very early the following morning, surprised to see his wife sitting at the tea table in the parlor, wide awake. She looked blankly over at Crouch when she saw him enter.

"What are you doing up?" Crouch asked wearily, concern in his voice. He hung up his coat and slipped off his shoes, which were immediately carried away by Winky the House-elf.

"I was waiting for you," she said simply, her voice barely above a whisper. She watched as her husband sat down at the table next to her, concern and worry etched in his tired face. "I went to see Healer Marie this afternoon." She turned to look at her husband with a worn, apathetic expression. "Barty, I'm dying."

Crouch stared at her wordlessly, sure that he had misheard. He frowned slightly, a crease between his eyebrows. "What?" was all he managed.

"She said I have a few weeks left." She shrugged. "Maybe a month or two."

Crouch sat back in the wooden chair, biting down on his bottom lip in an attempt to keep his face straight.

"Barty," she whispered, standing up and placing her hands on either side of Crouch's face. "Please, do me one last favor. Get our son out of Azkaban. I don't care if he's guilty or not, I can't bear dying knowing our only child is withering away."

Crouch shut his eyes, running a single hand along his wife's. "I can't do that," he said quietly.

"You have an invisibility cloak; use it!" she implored. There was a hint of desperation in her voice now. "Request a visit, and smuggle me in his place. We'll bring along Polyjuice Potion, and enough for me to keep taking it until—"

"No," said Crouch firmly, standing up and moving away, hands running distractedly through his hair.

"He's your son, Barty!" she said clearly.

"I will not have you die in Azkaban!" Crouch almost shouted. It was torture enough to have his wife die. But in Azkaban?

She stared at him grimly, remarkably calm. She shook her head. "Regardless of where I am, I'm still going to die, Barty. There's no changing that. But you can save our son, so take this chance! Don't let him wither away, too."

Crouch stared sideways at his wife, feeling like he was the one dying.

"All right," he whispered finally.

_

* * *

He didn't sleep that night. After several hours of sitting in front of a dying fire and clutching glasses of merlot, Crouch headed back to the office._

He scribbled a quick note and left it on his secretary's desk, giving her instructions to fill out the necessary paper work for an Azkaban visit.

Crouch entered his dim office, and sighed heavily. Sitting on his desk was the enormous folder that contained all of the records of Black's interrogations. Beneath this sat the thin manila envelope that held the documents about the most recent interview, at which Crouch had introduced the Veritaserum.

Crouch sighed, running a hand distractedly through his hair as he looked the documents over. Remembering something suddenly, Crouch picked up his wand and with a single flick, locked his office door. He then returned to the records, frowning as he looked over them once more.

The stories were the same in all the interviews, even the last one. Crouch wasn't sure whether this meant Black was lying, or in fact telling the truth, due to the Veritaserum. If it was the latter, that meant there were far more complications and tragedies in the case than previously thought.

The entire situation would turn into scandal. The last one the Ministry had faced—barely a few months previously—hadn't even aged enough to fade from social concern.

Either way, the interview couldn't stand in trial. Crouch, while given unknowing consent by Potter, had not filled out the proper forms and requested permission from the Wizengamot to use the Veritaserum. Not only that, but an expert Legillimens wasn't present, and therefore no one could be sure of the truth, if any, behind Black's story.

Even if the interview was presented, and Black was by some twisted chance innocent, the results of the case would be a laughingstock. The rest of the investigation would be led on circumstantial evidence and hearsay. Not only that, but how would they know where to begin looking for Pettigrew? Was he even alive?

_No, _Crouch thought dully, stuffing the papers back in their folder, and hiding them in a locked cabinet beneath his desk. He wouldn't present the interview, and the case would continue on as though Potter had never given his outburst.

Just then Fudge apparated in the middle of his office, causing Crouch to jump, caught off guard.

"We've sent for Healers, so they should be here any second—"

"What are you—?"

"He—but didn't you hear?" Fudge asked breathlessly, frowning.

Crouch raised his eyebrows. "About what?"

"Black's, er—condition, is worse than we thought," said Fudge.

When he didn't continue, Crouch said hotly, "He's not dead, is he? I assigned Aurors to guard that room day and night—"

"Lucky you did, because they're the ones who caught Black before he did die. His lungs gave out just now," he added.

Crouch stared at him. "And Black's still here?"

"Yes, in the—"

"Well, send him to St. Mungo's!" said Crouch exasperatedly. "We can't have him dying before we finish this fiasco."

Fudge hesitated for a moment; then there came a sharp jangling. Both Fudge and Crouch turned to look at the doorknob before Crouch flicked his wand, and it flew open.

"Congratulations, Black isn't dead yet," said a young woman, entering the office, followed by a second Healer and several Aurors. "We removed the build-up in his lungs, so he should be breathing for another day or two. If you want him to keep breathing, I suggest hospitalization—" she turned to the grim-faced people behind her. "But not all of us agree. Dumbledore, however—"

"Has no authority in the matter," snapped one of the Aurors.

"—suggests it as well. Quite highly, I should add," the Healer went on as though there was no interruption.

"He's bound to be sentenced to life in prison if not the Dementor's Kiss, Minister," said one of the newer Aurors. He shook his head. "Is there really any point hospitalizing Black if he's just going to, well, pretty much die on his own?"

"We're not America, we don't kill our prisoners," snapped the young woman, rolling her eyes. She turned to Fudge, a completely different expression on her oval face. "He will die if you don't let us take him to St. Mungo's. Do you want to finish sorting through this fiasco or not?"

"Sir, there would be an uproar if we put Black in a public hospital," cut in a second Auror. "Not to mention what Black himself may do once he begins to recover—"

"My experience tells me he might request pancakes, or something of the like," said the woman. "Most dying patients usually don't try to commit mass murder."

The two Aurors who had spoken glared at her.

"It's your call, Minister," she continued.

Fudge looked helplessly at Crouch, who offered no further advice. Fudge sighed, closing his eyes tightly. "Fine," he said finally. "Lock him up in St. Mungo's instead. But once he's stable, I want him back here—"

"But, sir," said the first Auror. "Black's due to be sent to Azkaban tonight."

Fudge sighed. "That will have to wait." He shook his head. "Go—take care of it."

The Aurors and two Healers left the office wordlessly, although Crouch could see the two Aurors giving the young Healer daggering looks.

Fudge collapsed into a chair by Crouch's desk, rubbing his temples. "The _Prophet _managed to find out—how surprising, yeah?—and it's all over the papers. My office is overflowing with letters. I can't even open the door without hundreds spilling out. Memos and owls are flying all over the place. The entire building's mayhem, and hardly anyone's arrived yet." He sighed. "How are you getting along with Black?"

"The same," said Crouch distractedly. "You say the _Prophet _got wind of this?"

"Yes, and they're having a field day with it, mind you," said Fudge. "Thankfully, it doesn't begin to compare to the arrest of the Lestrange group, but this really isn't the time to be flocked with demands for information, press conferences, and so on. They all want to know when the trial is."

"Has it been decided?" Crouch asked.

"Not an exact date," said Fudge, sighing heavily. "It was going to be another month or so, so we can reorganize our evidence and gather up the old records and witnesses. But by the looks of things, it's going to end up being a lot sooner. The Wizengamot still hasn't decided Black's sentence when he's convicted properly."

Crouch rubbed his temples. "Do they know anything of Potter?"

"Only that's he's alive and safe," said Fudge wearily. "Thank Merlin for that. If they knew any more, I'm sure this fiasco would turn into a scandal. 'Ministry fails in attempts to interview the Boy-Who-Lived' or some such nonsense. As if we didn't have enough to be getting along with."

_

* * *

The moment Edna Lively stepped into her office early that morning, she was hailed by a middle-aged Healer hurrying her way._

"Minister Fudge wants to admit Black into the hospital!" she shouted.

Lively stared at her, frowning. "What?"

"Haven't you heard?" the Healer said breathlessly, reaching her. "Black was captured a few days ago. Fudge is trying to admit him."

Lively dropped her bag and hurried to the first floor, the Healer just behind her. Several minutes later, she spotted Cornelius Fudge and Barty Crouch standing in the lobby, apparently having a heated discussion with the receptionist.

"I'm telling you, I'm not authorized to do this!" she said loudly, ignoring the stares of the early-morning patients in their seats.

"What's going on?" Lively demanded, reaching them.

"They're trying to admit Black in the intensive care corridor—" the receptionist began.

"Black is currently in less than satisfactory health," said Crouch roughly. It was clear by the tone of his voice that this was not to his liking either. "And we are thus unable to successfully interrogate him if he's dying—"

"It's a _public _ward, sirs," said the receptionist coldly.

"So you're going to admit your mass murderer in this hospital?" Lively began, outraged. Now everyone in the lobby was staring. "Are you out of your mind? Do you know—?"

"My dear Edna," Fudge began, trying to calm her down. "There is no other option. We can't possibly allow Black to die before we sort through this mess. We have immense reason to believe he harbors a great deal of important information—"

"Then why ship him off here?" Lively demanded, following Crouch down the wide corridor, and into a smaller, adjacent one. Fudge trailed behind them. "Why not keep him locked up, where he belongs? Surely he can receive treatment there—"

"We've already tried," said Crouch stiffly. "Unfortunately, the Healers who were treating him early this morning said he would have to be transferred if we wanted him to live.."

Lively let out a roar of frustration, throwing her hands in the air. "Why is it everywhere I go, I'm plagued by this man?"

"Believe me, you're not alone," said Fudge darkly as Crouch paused in front of the pewter lift, waiting to ascend.

"Have you even notified—?"

"That is my current business," said Crouch curtly as the grilles slid open. "However, Minister Fudge has say over all this, therefore leaving your boss' opinion useless."

Lively stared, fuming, as the lift disappeared. She rounded on Fudge.

"I don't like this anymore than you do," Fudge said placatingly before she could explode. "Believe me, I'd throw Black straight into Azkaban if I could. But there are more pressing matters that need to be dealt with as soon as possible."

"When the _Prophet _finds out—"

"My dear, I have no intention of informing the media, nor the public, that Black is currently being treated in this hospital. It would cause even more mayhem than we already have to sort through. Black will only be here long enough to reach a stable condition, and then we're taking him away."

Lively shook her head, chewing her bottom lip. "Who was it that sent Black here, exactly? You don't strike me as the type whose opinion this would be."

"Well, it was more of a mutual agreement," said Fudge. "It was Dumbledore who suggested it, actually."

Lively turned away. "Figures," she muttered under her breath.

_

* * *

Hesitantly, Remus ascended thestairway that led to the attic bedroom, where Harry had shut himself away. A thick leather album was tucked under one arm, and a plate topped with a sandwich was in the other._

"Harry?" Remus called, peering around the door. Harry looked up from the still-made bed he was sitting on. A second later, he returned his gaze to the morning glow outside the glass door.

Remus paused, swallowed, and moved forward. Harry didn't move.

Remus set the sandwich down on the ancient side-table drawer and sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes fixated on the back of Harry's head.

For a few minutes there was complete silence. Remus glanced down at the album in his hands, running a thumb along the edge of the cover. He cleared his throat. "Did—did Sirius ever talk to you about your parents at all?"

Harry's head half-turned. "Sometimes," he said in a quiet voice after a long pause. "I don't think he liked to talk about them too much. Especially my dad."

Remus bit his lower lip. "Do you...? I have some pictures," he said in what he hoped was a conversational tone. This caught Harry's attention. He turned around, and his eyes fell on the album.

"Of my mom and dad?"

Remus nodded, offering a friendly smile. "Do you want to see?"

Harry uncrossed his legs and moved closer to Remus, his face a strange mixture of curiosity and caution. Remus opened the cover, and began describing each moving photo. Due to Harry's lack of surprise, it seemed he had seen—or at least heard of—wizarding photos in the past.

"This is the four of us in our seventh year at Hogwarts," said Remus. "We were about eighteen when this was taken. That's me on the left, and Sirius next to me. James is the one in glasses, and the girl next to him is your mother, Lily. Next to her is Peter—"

"Pettigrew?" Harry asked sharply, looking up.

Remus hesitated. "Yes," he said finally. Harry studied him expressionlessly for a moment before returning to the album. He didn't say anything more of him.

"You can hardly see it, but that's Hogwarts castle in the background. It's kind of hidden by the mountains," continued Remus, pointing to a small shape in the corner of the photograph.

"Is that where I'm going to school?"

"Yes," answered Remus. "This was taken in Hogsmede. It's a village about a mile or so from the school. You take the train to get to Hogwarts, and that's where the station is. Once you're in third year, you're allowed to visit the village on certain weekends."

Remus turned the page, and was met with the photographed memory of James shoving Sirius into himself, at which Sirius immediately retaliated by yanking James' sweater up over his head. James stumbled as he tried to pull it back down, and tripped over a particularly twisted tree root. Remus watched with a faint smile on his face as their eighteen-year-old selves rolled over laughing. It didn't take long until James charged at Sirius, sending them both flying into the shallows of the lake.

Remus glanced at Harry, and saw that his face was split in a grin.

"Your dad and Sirius were best friends," said Remus softly, his grin faltering slightly as it was replaced by a sad smile. "Since their first year of school, actually. You'd almost think they were brothers. When they weren't getting themselves into trouble—and dragging Peter and I into it most of the time, mind you—they were either trying to get the other out of detention through means of their persuasion skills, or else trying to woo Lily for James."

"My mom?" Harry asked, a smile on his face.

"Your parents—er, weren't exactly friends at first," said Remus. "But James was determined. It wasn't until seventh year that they started dating. About two years after leaving school, they got married, and had you."

"What about the rest of you? Did any of you ever get married?"

Remus shook his head, smiling as he turned the page. "Sirius always had women trying to get him, but I don't think he ever had a real relationship with anyone. Not that I've seen, anyway. He was a bit of a prat in school—we all were, come to think of it—but he was always the romantic sort." Remus smiled. "He used to throw books at us whenever we brought it up in school. James used to make fun of him, actually. Said he was either blind or...well, he made fun of him a lot.

"Peter had a fair few relationships in school, but they never lasted long. He never got married, either."

"What about you?" Harry asked, eyes lit with curiosity.

Remus shook his head. "No, I never dated."

"Do you think you might get married?"

Remus smiled sadly. "I don't think so."

"Is it because you're a werewolf?"

Remus hesitated before saying slowly, "That's part of it, I suppose. ... Marriage is a big deal. It takes time. And you have to find the right person to begin with."

Harry turned back to the album. "What's this one of?"

Remus, who had picked up the sandwich to give to Harry, looked down at the photo and laughed slightly. "Oh, that was about a year after we left school. You see, James had taken Lily on a rather romantic dinner on a lakeshore. The rest of us were spying on them in the bushes—I don't remember why; it must have been Sirius' idea. Anyways, it was late spring, so there were geese everywhere. Once they realized James and Lily had food, they...well, I'm sure you can see for yourself."

Harry examined the photo, at which James grabbed Lily's hand and they tore off running as the geese charged at them, claiming the pick-nick as their own.

It took several hours to comb through the album. It was the very first time Harry seemed comfortable around him; the boy was fascinated by the photographs.

Remus turned to the last page. "This is your parents' wedding," he said softly. "That's Sirius there—he was the best man—and next to him are myself and Peter. This was about seven years ago." Remus ran a finger absentmindedly along the picture's edge.

"You miss them, don't you?" Harry asked softly. Remus looked over at him, taken aback slightly. Harry shrugged, turning his gaze back to the picture. "Sirius does, too. I don't remember them, but I know if I did, I'd miss them too."

Remus felt a peculiar sensation behind his eyes, and it wasn't until he had collected the album and softly shut the door behind him that he realized what it was.

_

* * *

Frank Maguire was released from St. Mungo's the same day that Sirius Black was admitted, with the Order of Merlin, Third Class, and the title of a hero in hand._

His wife couldn't take his unexpected, almost fatal escapades, and had packed her bags the previous day. Frank returned home to an empty house, grateful only for the fact that he hadn't lost his job as well.

Owls arrived by the hour with requests for interviews for everything ranging from local tabloids to the Wizarding Wireless. After a while, Frank merely began tossing these into his fireplace.

Though Black had been captured at last, Frank still felt dissatisfied. It was inevitable what Black's sentence would be; but it did nothing to alleviate Frank's burdens.

It didn't quite amount to enough to avenge Victor's death. If Black's ultimate punishment wasn't enough, then what would be?

What would it take to make up for the death of his friend?


	27. sentencing

A/N: GASP! The update page actually works?

"He that cannot forgive others breaks the bridge over which he must pass himself; for every man has a need to be forgiven."  
-Thomas Fuller

"_You know I'm _going to kill you for this, right?" said Lively bitterly that evening as she and Crouch made their way down the long corridor from the Head of St. Mungo's office.

"You do remember this being Dumbledore's initial idea, yes?" said Crouch unconcernedly. "Why don't you threaten him?"

"Because he wouldn't take me seriously."

In spite of himself, Crouch smirked at this. "And you think I would?"

"We're old_ friends_," said Lively matter-of-factly. "If you knew what was good for you, you would."

Crouch shook his head. "The sooner Black's stable, the sooner we can convict him and be done with this whole affair. Who do you have in charge of him?"

"Right now, no one specifically," answered Lively. "If anything, _I'm _stuck with him. Do you know how many papers and legal matters I have to sort through to properly admit him? And once the media finds out—"

"The _Prophet _won't find out."

Lively laughed humorlessly. "They're just like students. Has it really been that long since you left Hogwarts?"

"Fortunately, no one who's aware of the situation is stupid enough to run off and inform the papers," said Crouch dismissively.

"I wouldn't put my money on it," said Lively as they turned a corner and began descending a flight of marble stairs.

* * *

"_The Ministry wants _to know if you're willing to go in for another interview," said Remus, skimming a letter that had just arrived.

After a first few terrible and awkward days, Harry was finally beginning to trust Remus. He had warmed up to him considerably, and wasn't spending his time locked in the attic bedroom.

"Maybe," answered Harry vaguely from his place at the dining table. "Are they going to listen to me, or keep telling me I'm making it all up?"

Remus shrugged, setting the letter down on the kitchen counter and returning to the pot of soup he was cooking. "Couldn't tell you."

Remus heard Harry sigh from the small, adjacent parlor that housed the dining table.

"Can I ask you something?"

Remus looked over at Harry through the entry. "Sure."

Harry hesitated, biting his lip for a moment before asking warily, "Do you hate Sirius?"

Though Remus knew the question would involve Sirius, he hadn't been expecting what Harry had just asked. He sighed, thinking over his answer as he turned off the stove and pulled a bowl out of the cabinet. "No," he said finally. "I don't."

While he said this mostly to move on to a different subject, Remus realized as he spoke that it was true. He paused, bowl in midair, before regaining a grip on himself as best he could.

"And..." Harry began, but broke off. "Do you believe him, then?"

Remus set the bowl of soup down on front of Harry. He returned to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and a spoon, and it wasn't until Harry was set that he answered. "They're two very different things, Harry."

Harry gazed down at his soup. It was clear he was dying to say more, but was trying to contain himself. Remus gazed at him for a moment before looking away. Just then, a ball of fire appeared in the middle of the dining room. It disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving behind a single, scarlet feather.

"Dumbledore'll be here any minute," said Remus. Harry cast the feather a dark look.

Surely enough, a moment later, Dumbledore appeared with a loud crack.

"My apologies for the delay," said Dumbledore, straightening his hat slightly. "The Wizengamot has been arguing all afternoon, and soon to be well into the evening, I suspect, by the looks of things."

"About Sirius?" Remus asked automatically. Harry looked up.

Dumbledore gazed at Remus steadily for a moment before replying, "Yes. His sentence, should he be convicted."

When he didn't elaborate, Remus pressed him. "And?"

"And it's fifty-fifty," sighed Dumbledore. "Half vote for a life sentence, and the other half vote for the Dementor's Kiss."

Remus felt his insides suddenly rise up in his throat. He didn't know which one would be worse.

"I informed the court I had other matters to attend to, and my vote would not change in my absence."

There was a moment's silence, which was soon interrupted by Harry asking with a curious frown, "What's the Dementor's Kiss?"

Remus and Dumbledore glanced at each other. It was clear they were trying to get a sign from the other on how to answer, only to find both of them were at a complete loss.

"Is it good or bad?"

Remus bit his lip. "Bad," he said with difficulty.

"Is it worse than spending your life in prison?" he asked.

Remus sighed, glancing at Dumbledore. "It's hard to say," he said stiffly. "It depends on too many things, I suppose."

"But what is it?"

Remus gestured to Dumbledore that he wanted to speak to him privately. "Finish your soup," he told Harry before leaving the dining room. Whether Harry obeyed or not, Remus didn't know, for he immediately headed for the silent living room in which Dumbledore was waiting.

"How am I supposed to explain these things to him?" Remus said in an undertone. "It's bad enough that he's five; it's even worse that he just got here hardly a week ago."

"I'm sorry that I can't answer that," said Dumbledore apologetically. "I really don't know."

"He just asked me if I hated Sirius," whispered Remus, running a hand through his hair distractedly.

Dumbledore gazed at him with a peculiar expression. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I didn't," answered Remus with a frown, shrugging. "And once I said it. ... I don't think I do hate him. I don't think I ever did." He rolled his eyes, tossing his hands in the air. "I don't even know what to make of him now."

Dumbledore rubbed his temple with his fingertip, apparently thinking something over. "Would you object to speaking with him yourself?"

"What?"

"I'm quite certain there's a way I can get you inside St. Mungo's to speak with Sirius if you'd like. There are a few complications involved, but I'm sure I can take care of everything."

Remus gazed at Dumbledore, a crease between his eyes. Dumbledore was offering him a chance to speak to Sirius. Did he even want to?

* * *

"_We cannot allow _the possibility of Black escaping!" said one of the members of the Wizengamot, bald head shining in the candlelight. "He has managed to evade the Ministry of Magic—not to mention the rest of the world—for four years, and do so with a child to burden him the entire time."

"Just because he's managed to hide, it doesn't mean he'll be able to escape Azkaban," countered another. "It's impossible to escape Azkaban. The prison has been there for nearly three hundred years, and we don't have reports of even a single _attempt."_

"Black isn't like the other Death Eaters and criminals," said an elderly witch hotly. "How do we know he's not really You-Know-Who's heir to power?"

"Four years ago, we would have thrown him in prison for life, and left it at that," stated a fourth. "Seeing as how the only actual thing he's _done _during that time is provide an irritating display of evasion, there is no reason to change the original sentence—"

"What about the death of that Ministry official in India?" the second wizard said hotly.

"There is no way to prove if it was indeed Black," chimed in a curly-haired witch.

"So we just let it slide, then?"

"We can't prove what happened—"

"I doubt Frank and the other would murder their own comrade—"

"It was dark and chaotic—"

"—It could have been an accident for all anyone knows—"

"—and certainly just as likely as murder—"

"Either way, we can't prove what happened!" said a wizened wizard so loudly, the court fell silent. "So there is no point in dragging that into this discussion. Unless Black confesses, 'Oh, it was me!' it will not stand in trial—"

"So we should give him Veritaserum and question him about it—"

"Give him an entire bottle!"

"We can't just pour it down his throat; we need consent!"

The courtroom was filled with arguing from all sides once more.

"I take it things haven't changed?" said Dumbledore to the wizened wizard, taking the seat he had left an hour before.

The old man sighed, tossing his hands in the air. "It's impossible. This won't end until we reach a two-thirds vote. While I still vote for the life sentence, I'm almost tempted to change my mind just to end this nonsense. The Kiss only needs two more votes to win."

Dumbledore sighed, gazing around the arguing court. "I have something rather important I need to ask of you."

The old wizard grinned. "Finally giving me something to pay you back for?"

Dumbledore gave a small smile. "You could call it that."

"I'll talk with you somewhere less barbaric," he replied. "In my office would probably be best. But it'll have to wait a moment." He turned back to the court, suddenly shouting, "Time to see if we've made any progress in the past six hours. Now for the always popular show of hands..."

A moment later, the court was deadly silent.

"What do you know," said the old wizard in a humorless voice. "We've finally reached a decision. You all may leave now. Or perhaps you should stay. I imagine it's almost time for us to show up for work."

A few people smirked at this as they stood up to leave. For once, quiet conversation filled the courtroom as it began to empty.

"Not what I was hoping for," said the old wizard dully, standing up. "But at least it's a decision, I suppose. Now, what was it you wanted to ask? Something illegal, I hope."

* * *

"_Is this...the _stack you...wanted?" asked the current Junior Undersecretary.

Fudge looked up to see the young man carrying an enormous tower of files held in place by magic. "Those came from the 1981 shelf, then?"

The youth set them down with great difficulty in the corner of the office. Wiping his brow, he turned to Fudge. "Yes, sir. These are all the records of the witnesses' accounts and contact information. However...they're not in any particular order, sir, so I don't know which ones are eye-witness, strictly muggle, or strictly wizarding testimony. I'm afraid you're going to have to look through them all and sort them by hand, sir."

Fudge sighed, rubbing his temples. "Do we have any ambitious...I don't know—_employees _around at this hour?"

"I can check sir," he said, nodding. "How would you like them organized?"

Fudge waved his hand distractedly. "I don't care. Whatever's logical." He sighed heavily. "If you'll excuse me, I must go speak with Madam Bones." Fudge strode from his office, not hearing the farewell the youth paid to him.

He found her in her office, pouring a glass of cognac. She half-turned to see Fudge, then said conversationally, "Feel like a drink?"

"Every second of every day," Fudge replied, sitting down in one of the chairs by the desk.

"We've decided to start the evidence proceedings in two days," she said, setting a glass in front of Fudge. "It's not exactly the actual trial, but the Wizengamot are going to review all the old evidence. It'll probably take weeks."

"Have they come to a decision on Black's sentence?" Fudge asked, taking a sip of his drink and wincing slightly at the burning in his throat.

"They have," said Madam Bones in a stiff voice. "Just a few hours ago. They've been arguing all day. I only just received the memo a few minutes ago. The Dementor's Kiss."

Fudge nodded, relief flowing through his veins. Once the entire trial business was over, Black was out of his life and career completely. If it wasn't for the fact that Black was currently locked in St. Mungo's receiving treatment, he would inform the press immediately. It would take a great load off his shoulders.

Not only that, but it would show the public he could handle his job. He knew what everyone said about him; he knew they all thought he couldn't handle his job without seeking advice from everyone around him.

He would show them. Once he had Black convicted and dealt with, his career would skyrocket. He wouldn't be a laughingstock any longer. Black had been caught during _his _career; not his predecessor's.

He was a great Minister. And he would show them all with Black's trial and the execution of his sentence. No one would doubt him again.

Just then there came a knock at the door.

"Come in," replied Madam Bones distractedly. She was surprised to see her secretary open the door. "Sorry to bother you ma'am, but there is a request for your signature."

"What is it?" asked Madam Bones, holding out her hand for the document.

"It's a bill of consent exchange," the secretary answered. "Mr. Lupin and Mr. Potter need your authorization to legalize it."

Fudge gaped at Madam Bones as she looked over the form with a slight frown. She then took out a peacock quill and signed the bottom.

"Consent exchange?" Fudge asked, eyebrows raised as the secretary left the office.

"They're documents that allow the person responsible for all legal and medical matters to temporarily hand over their responsibilities to a second party. We usually use them when the only person who has any legal right to make decisions about a relative who can't is a child."

"So this...Mr. Lupin? Is that right? Has legal authority to provide consent about matters involving Black?"

"Pretty much," answered Madam Bones. "I'm actually very surprised he agreed to it, considering he used to be friends with Black. If it were me, the only way you could get me to do it was if I could kill the man."

Fudge took another sip, weighing his options heavily. This changed matters greatly. While they would still endure interviews with Harry Potter that would go nowhere, this Lupin now had legal authority to make decisions on Black's behalf. How far could he stretch it?

"I'm curious as to what he's up to," she continued. Fudge looked at her questioningly.

"How do you mean?"

She shrugged, taking another drink. "Dumbledore was the one who made the referral, and provided one of the Wizengamot signatures. I'm pretty sure that makes this his idea. I'm just curious as to why."

Fudge traced a thumb along the glass he was holding. Why was Dumbledore getting into this? His first reaction was that Dumbledore was making matters less complicated by transferring the consent authority, but why to Black's childhood friend? Did Dumbledore think Lupin would find some way to kill Black and make it appear as an accident?

That wasn't like Dumbledore. He would never agree to such a thing. Then why the old friend, Lupin?

Unless he had some deeper plan in mind he hadn't mentioned previously. Unless he was meddling in Fudge's affairs much deeper than he should be doing.

Fudge bit his lower lip, thinking hard. It was impossible to gauge what it was Dumbledore was trying to pull. It was even harder to come up with a reason as to why.

But it was clear he was up to something, and he hadn't said a word to Fudge about it.

What was he conspiring on, now?

* * *

"_Are you sure _we won't...I don't know, get arrested ourselves for doing this?" Remus asked early the following morning, standing outside a thick glass window and intercom system in the basement corridors of St. Mungo's.

"I have already taken care of everything," said Dumbledore calmly. "The papers were all signed and registered. You have full authority over his medical decisions while he is here. Demanding a proper visitation is stretching it quite a bit, but it is legal. I think so, anyway.

"I'll be upstairs in the lobby when you're done. I'm sure Harry's a little tired of people staring at him up there by now."

Remus half-nodded, turning to the thick glass window next to him. The window revealed a small, whitewashed room with a single iron-framed bed occupied by a rather whittled-looking figure, seemingly asleep.

"Just hit the button, and speak how you normally would. It works just like a muggle intercom system if you've ever used one," said the same young Healer who had visited with Fudge and Crouch before. She appeared as though she had only agreed to do this because it was Dumbledore himself who had requested the favor. She glanced darkly through the window. "You're going to have a job waking him up. You can't go inside."

Remus glanced at her before returning his gaze to the bed on the other side of the glass. He pressed the button on his right hesitantly, eyes fixated on the room's occupant.

He cleared his throat. "Sirius? It's me."

There was no sign that he had heard him. Remus tried again, this time speaking directly into the small box hooked on the wall. When he was met with the same results, he turned to the Healer next to him, who looked rather annoyed with the whole affair.

"Is there—er—any way to wake him up?" he asked hesitantly.

She shook her head. "I don't have the keys to the room. You'll either have to keep trying, or come back some other time when Fudge and Crouch aren't here to stop you."

Remus turned back to the box, and spoke so loudly, he was almost shouting. _"Vous avez besoin de se r__éveiller, vous idiot_!"

The woman glanced at him sideways, but otherwise ignored Remus.

Through the glass, Remus could see Sirius stir slightly. He gazed at Remus questioningly for a moment before closing his eyes again and, in a barely audible voice, muttered, "Go away."

"Did you do it?" Remus demanded. "If you lie to me, I swear I'll kill you."

"How did you even get down here?" Sirius muttered, not opening his eyes.

Remus hit the wall with his fist without realizing it. "Answer me!"

Sirius merely rolled over so that he was lying on his side, his back facing Remus. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered hoarsely.

Remus shook his head and sighed in exasperation, turning around so that his head was leaning against the window. This was going nowhere. But he had to try.

He wasn't leaving until he got what he came here for.

"Well?" he demanded angrily, turning back around a second later. At the same time, the corners of his eyes began to sting, but Remus ignored it.

Sirius sighed into the blanket pulled tightly around him. Finally, he whispered simply, "No, Remus, I didn't do it." He spoke as though he knew Remus wouldn't believe him.

Remus stared at him silently for a moment, feeling his insides burn and die. Unsticking his throat, he said, "You were always so stubborn, Padfoot."

Just as Remus left the window, followed by the relieved-looking Healer, Sirius suddenly rolled over, but it was too late.

Remus had already gone.

* * *

"_This isn't the _middle ages," said Lively briskly, striding down the empty corridor. "We don't execute people."

"Right. We suck out their souls instead," countered the young Healer.

Lively ignored her.

"Don't you think it would be...er, _kinder _to simply let Black die on his own as opposed to ripping his soul out? You seem to have taken a peculiar interest in his case anyway, especially after you threatened Dumbledore."

Lively stopped dead, turning to her. "How do you mean?" she asked sharply.

"You know as well as I do that Dumbledore believes Black may not be as guilty as we all think," she said steadily. "Frankly, I'd rather not get involved, but it's a bit too late for that. I know you know Dumbledore wouldn't believe such things unless he had a reason. I know he's a bit mad, but he's also usually right. And despite your threatening him, you also trust him."

"What are you saying?" Lively snapped.

"I'm saying you could at least do Black the justice of a proper death."

Lively stepped into the metal lift, the grilles clanging shut. "I suppose it's a shame I don't do anyone favors anymore."


	28. interlude: into dust

A/N: I was doing so well...no writer's block, brain failure, or anything. So much for that; I blame finals. This chapter is quite short, but it was intentional.

"I could possibly be fading  
Or have something more to gain  
I could feel myself growing colder  
I could feel myself under your fate"

-"Into Dust," Mazzy Star

"_Harry?" said Remus, _entering the attic bedroom and dreading the coming conversation.

Harry, who was still in bed, rolled over to look at him. Remus sat down at the foot of the bed, watching Harry awkwardly. He had no idea how to begin this.

"You know your mother had a sister?"

Harry shook his head.

"Her name is Petunia Dursley," Remus continued, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle in the bedspread. "She's married to a man named Vernon, and has a son about your age. His name is Dudley."

Harry didn't say anything; he waited for Remus to continue, sensing there was more.

"Well," said Remus stiffly. "After your parents died, you were supposed to go and live with them. Of course, the—er, incident—prevented that the past four years. But you're back now, so..." His voice trailed off as he tried to find words to explain to Harry what was going to happen.

Harry stared at him with a crease between his eyes and a slight frown.

"Believe me, I would love to have you stay," said Remus quickly, an apologetic note in his voice. "But I'm not your legal guardian. I could never be, actually," he added softly.

"Because you're a werewolf?" Harry asked in similar tones.

Remus pursed his lips and nodded. "Yes."

Harry sighed slightly, turning his head to look out the glass door across the room. "That's okay," he continued.

This was not the response Remus had been expecting.

But then Harry added, "I'm starting to get used to everyone leaving."

* * *

"_You can't just _ship him off to Azkaban!" said Madam Bones exasperatedly, throwing her hands in the air.

"I assure you, I can," said Fudge, pouring himself a glass of ruby red liquid. "Wine?"

"He just got released from St. Mungo's this morning because he's _stable, _not completely cured. He has a pretty good chance of his pneumonia worsening all over again. I doubt he'd last the week."

"My dear," said Fudge, setting the bottle back down and corking it. "Consider it our better side to even go through with a trial."

"I'm well aware of the recent events," said Madam Bones darkly, glaring at him.

"Then you'll understand why we simply don't have the energy and time for this. Yet we're going ahead with the trial regardless." He shook his head. "And it's not out of personal grudge that I'm holding him there. If Black can escape our most talented Hit Wizards and Aurors several times, remain on the run for over four years with the entire world on the look for him, escape the random attacks by Maguire and his men, after everything else he's been convicted of in the first place, Azkaban is the only place to keep the public safe from him. Am I really supposed to lock him in my office?"

"It's not just a matter of his health. The validity of his statement depends on it. If he starts going mad while waiting for his trial, and even during if you plan to keep him locked up in the meantime, the Wizengamot will be forced to call a mistrial. Imagine what would happen once word got out."

Fudge sighed. "I don't deny the effects of Azkaban," he said calmly. "But I would also like to remind you it takes weeks—months usually—for people to start losing it. Black wouldn't be there quite that long."

"With a trial his size?" she said, eyebrows raised. "I'd be surprised if it finished before the year's end! Besides, if he falls ill again, he won't last nearly as long as most—"

"What are you saying?" said Fudge, suddenly brisk. "What is it you want me to do?"

"I'm not trying to make Black comfortable," said Madam Bones roughly. "But he does deserve a fair trial, and that can't happen if he's dead or insane."

Fudge sighed. "My hands are tied," he said, shrugging. "You've never had a problem with the Ministry keeping other convicts in Azkaban while they await trial before."

"That's because Black isn't like the other convicts," she countered hotly.

"You seem to have no problem accepting Karkaroff's statement, and he's been in Azkaban for some time, now."

"That's because Karkaroff isn't the heir apparent to the Dark Lord, and he isn't recovering from an illness that came a little too close to killing him," she snapped. "I'm well aware of the sudden tidal wave of new Death Eater trials and investigations we have the pleasure of receiving overnight, but that shouldn't stop us from upholding the law—"

"Not that you were personally responsible," said Fudge as calmly as he could. It was clear he was getting annoyed by the argument. "But you do remember the Ministry's only way of handling Death Eaters naught but four years ago?"

"I'm well aware of it, but—"

"This isn't much different," interrupted Fudge. "They're still Death Eaters. We're still sorting through muggle attacks and attempts to find You-Know-Who. By the looks of it, many of them are even trying to bring a new Dark Lord to power. And if Black really is the heir apparent, we can't possibly allow any risk that Black may escape. So yes, my dear, I am weighing Black's life far less compared to the safety of the public."

Madam Bones shook her head exasperatedly and left the office, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

"_Sirius was released _today," said Dumbledore expressionlessly, finding Remus staring blankly out his kitchen window.

There was a long silence.

"Have..." Remus shut his eyes tightly before continuing, "Have they shipped him off to Azkaban yet?"

"No, but he's due to be any time now."

Remus didn't answer, still staring out the ice-encrusted window.

Dumbledore made a movement as though to place his hand on Remus' shoulder comfortingly, but thought better of it and let it drop.

They stood in the kitchen silently for a long time, neither knowing what to say to the other.

_

* * *

Crouch entered the dim entryway, physically leading his son inside and quickly shutting the front door behind him. Winky immediately picked up the cloak and scarf Crouch let drop to the floor before carefully folding the Invisibility cloak and locking it away in a special cabinet in the dresser by the front door._

She turned to her Master and watched as he led his son down the hallway and locked him inside his old bedroom.

"I have prepared dinner, sir," said Winky tentatively when Crouch reappeared.

"Good," muttered Crouch distractedly. "Set it on the table, will you? Two plates."

Winky did as she was told, waiting by the dining room.

Crouch never appeared.

_

* * *

Sirius rubbed his temples, elbows resting on the bare table in front of him. He vaguely wondered how long until the aurors arrived to take him away._

He almost laughed at the irony of it all.

He was torn between wondering what Harry was going through, and Remus' last remark from the other day. _You were always so stubborn, Padfoot._

He had used his old nickname, so did this mean he forgave him? Did Remus perhaps even believe Sirius was innocent? Or was it just Remus being old Remus?

It was maddening.

If Remus did believe him, how did that come about? Did Dumbledore speak to him? And if so—did Dumbledore even believe him? It was hard to say. The man had listened willingly to everything Sirius had told him when he had been captured, but said very little himself.

Maybe he was just going mad. Maybe he had hallucinated the brief conversation in St. Mungo's. Dumbledore didn't believe him, and Remus certainly didn't either; nor did he ever come to the hospital.

But that didn't seem right.

The torturous silence was suddenly interrupted by the distinct sound of approaching footsteps. Sirius felt a burning rise in his throat, and sighed.

They were coming.

_

* * *

Fudge watched from under his rather useless umbrella from his place on the frozen port as the disappearing boat chugged its way through the ice-encrusted sea. Sleet lashed down unforgivingly from the dark heavens, chilling everyone present to the bone._

"They've set the trial for two weeks from tomorrow," said Fudge's Junior Undersecretary, who was standing next to him in the raging storm. "Madam Bones insisted the date be moved forward to allow time for the other trials, especially for Mr. Rookwood."

Lightning flashed overhead, momentarily illuminating the dark shape in the distance.

Fudge was going over a thousand details for the press conference he was to speak in first thing tomorrow morning. Was Black convicted, what is his sentence, when is the trial, why did he take Potter, what was his motive... Fudge hardly knew the answers to these questions himself.

Perhaps he could explain it away and state certain details cannot be released until after the trial. Yes, that should work. It would be met with an uproar, but it was for the best.

Fudge couldn't allow any inkling to get out that he was still fairly ignorant of the happenings in his own affairs. He certainly didn't need another scandal. After Crouch's son had been arrested a few months previously, the Ministry had been receiving hell from the public. It hadn't helped that, at the time, Black was still on the run and there was no word of him.

Once this fiasco with Black was dealt with, Fudge had been hoping to regain the Ministry's reputation, and progress to boost his career. But with Karkaroff's statement in front of the Wizengamot the previous afternoon, that didn't seem likely. His claim against Augustus Rookwood would throw everything he had been working for right out the window.

If Rookwood was innocent, the Ministry would be attacked for so thoroughly investigating an innocent man through the word of a convicted and imprisoned Death Eater. He, Fudge, would be a laughingstock.

But if Rookwood was indeed guilty, they would be attacked from all sides for not investigating their employees thoroughly enough, and allowing a Death Eater to work in one of the most important departments in the Ministry for years, completely undetected.

Nothing ever seemed to go right.

"Sir?"

Fudge jerked out of his thoughts and turned to his Undersecretary. "Pardon?"

"We're leaving now, sir. The boat's arrived at the island with no problem, and it's on its way back now."

Fudge glanced at the island fortress in the distance before following the youth and saying distractedly, "Er, yes. Yes, I'm coming."

_

* * *

No one slept. That night, the greedy shores of Azkaban welcomed two innocent prisoners._


	29. the point sometimes

A/N: this chapter holds the title as the hardest to write as of yet, strictly because of the confrontation between Remus and Sirius. To clear up the last chapter: Crouch's wife was the second prisoner referenced at the end, as she and her son had just switched places. Sorry if it wasn't very clear. As for the story itself, I predict (and it's probably a bad idea to say this since I may be way off) maybe ten more chapters? _Barranca: _I completely agree with you; that's why it's so interesting (and often difficult) to write Fudge and Crouch.

"For it is the dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret."  
-Cry the Beloved Country

_An enormous amount _of chaos ensued. Two weeks became an eternity in fast-forward.

Harry was unpacking his backpack while sitting cross-legged in a cupboard under the stairs. An old mattress had been brought in, as well as a pillow and sheets. Harry looked around the dismal space, taking in the lone lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and the shelves lining the walls.

The cramped cupboard was an unexpected change after the large attic bedroom at Remus' house. His new family was ten times worse.

His Aunt Petunia was bony and sour-tempered, vaguely putting Harry in mind of a sort of evil stepmother from a fairy tale. She refused to allow Harry to wear shoes in the house, and when she wasn't scrubbing the rooms spotless, she appeared to be spying on the neighbors. When Harry had arrived with next to nothing, Aunt Petunia gave Harry a pile of Dudley's old, stained, and often frayed clothes. She often nagged Harry to brush his hair and wash his hands for no apparent reason. Sometimes she simply locked him in his cupboard.

She was the nicest of the Dursleys.

Next came Uncle Vernon, a large man with a mustache to match. He was always squinting at Harry as though expecting him to burn the house down any moment. He didn't like Harry; Harry didn't really like him, either. Vernon always boasted about his work, or the achievements of his son, Dudley. When he wasn't bragging to anyone who would listen, he was shooting Harry calculating looks. Harry usually shrugged when he caught them.

Worst of all was Dudley. He was a month or so older than Harry, and outright spoiled. He was a pudgy little boy with the vocal cords of an opera singer. Harry hadn't quite gotten used to his relentless screaming to get whatever he wanted. Harry noticed Dudley often screamed just to get things taken away from Harry, even if Dudley himself didn't want them.

That was how Harry ended up in the cupboard under the stairs rather than in Dudley's second bedroom.

For breakfast that morning, Dudley demanded chocolate-chip pancakes. Aunt Petunia immediately began preparing the batter, but Dudley then added, "Don't give _him _any."

Harry looked up at Dudley. While he himself wasn't quite used to living with the Dursleys, Dudley was throwing fits left and right. He couldn't possibly have hated the change more than Harry, but an unknowing onlooker would certainly believe so. "Why?"

Dudley shot him a murderous stare. "Because you're not supposed to live here," he said nastily. "Why don't you go live with your own family?"

Harry stared at him. He was almost tempted to snap back, "They're dead, in prison, or a werewolf" but managed to hold his tongue. It was easier to survive if he didn't argue with the Dursleys. Petunia and Vernon would then often ignore him. Dudley was far more tenacious, but would eventually give up when he realized his provocations were getting nowhere.

Fifteen minutes later, Aunt Petunia began handing out the pancakes. She placed a fair stack of chocolate-chip pancakes in front of Dudley, and two plain ones for Harry. Dudley shot Harry a triumphant look, but Harry simply shrugged and began eating in silence. He had realized he could secretly annoy Dudley if he pretended Dudley's behavior didn't bother him one bit.

If the Dursleys weren't a bizarre enough change, the entire neighborhood and daily routine certainly was. This was the first time Harry lived in an actual suburban neighborhood. He found it odd that all the houses looked exactly the same. The only way he could tell which one belonged to the Dursleys was through their yard; no one else quite tended to each blade of grass like the Dursleys.

Many of his neighbors often shot Harry furtive and questioning glances whenever they passed by, always whispering behind their hands. When at the park, Aunt Petunia often said clearly, "My nephew. His parents died in a car crash," to prevent any gossiping she wasn't a part of.

Harry never asked why she didn't just say his parents were murdered.

Every morning Harry was woken at seven. He was to make his bed, and then head to the kitchen for a silent breakfast. Uncle Vernon would peck his wife on the cheek, ruffle his son's hair, shoot Harry a dirty look, and leave for work. Afterwards, Harry was often sent outside while Aunt Petunia performed her daily cleaning rituals. Sometimes Dudley joined him when Aunt Petunia cleaned his room.

Dudley discovered his new favorite game was rounding his friends together to chase Harry around the street, or in the garden. It was good Harry was so small; he could easily outrun Dudley and his friends and take shelter in the hydrangea bushes.

Before he left, Remus had given Harry one of his albums with photographs of his parents. Harry looked through the pages for the millionth time that evening, gazing at the now-familiar faces of his parents and their friends.

His gazing was suddenly interrupted by Aunt Petunia rapping sharply on the door. "Time for bed! Turn off that light."

Harry sighed, gently closing the album and setting it on the shelf right above his pillow. He stood up and pulled the dangling switch that controlled the lightbulb. Instantly, the cupboard was completely dark but for a small crack of yellow light glowing around the door's frame.

Harry laid down on the mattress, staring at it. He wondered how long it would be until Sirius was released, and came to take him away.

As Harry's mind drifted to Sirius, he didn't even realize his eyes began to fill with tears. He had kept his emotions to himself as best he could ever since they had left New York; he knew Sirius—and now Remus as well—had far too much to handle as it was. So it was up to him to pretend to be calm and strong for them, so they wouldn't have to worry about yet another thing.

But he was only five years old. Hardly five-and-a-half. He couldn't carry that sort of weight, let alone for everyone around him. He knew no one asked it of him, but he also secretly knew that they needed it. They all needed someone to remain level-headed so they could have someone being strong for them.

Harry didn't want the job anymore. It would put a great deal on nearly everyone around him; that was obvious. But he couldn't do it; he couldn't even try to do it anymore.

Harry rolled over on his side, pulling the starched blanket up to his face to stifle his crying and absorb his tears.

It was bad enough that he had to give up. He couldn't bear it if anyone found out. He knew they would understand, but he also knew he was giving his own grief to the others.

And yet...he was only a child.

_

* * *

Remus paced the empty bookstore impatiently, checking his watch every minute. Dumbledore had been at the Ministry all day, listening to the evidence stacked against Sirius. The trial itself wouldn't start until the next morning, far sooner than originally planned. Remus didn't know if this could be considered good news or not. _

Finally, at a quarter to eleven, a loud crack signaled Dumbledore's arrival. Remus hurried around the counter and towards the entrance to the backroom.

"Sirius was brought to the Ministry early," said Dumbledore when he saw Remus approaching. "He arrived just as I was leaving."

"So the trial starts first thing in the morning?" Remus asked, frowning.

Dumbledore hesitated. "Not exactly."

Remus stared at him. "How do you mean? Have they changed it—?"

"No, it's still tomorrow morning," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "But what with the new inquiries going on at the Ministry—I daresay you heard about Rookwood—the entire place is in chaos. Somehow the public found out, and now Fudge's caved in and is currently reviewing the records of every employee there."

"I don't understand," said Remus, a crease between his eyebrows. "What does this have to do with Sirius' trial?"

"Since there are so many enormous legal matters going on, there's not much time to go through with proper, full-length trials. Sirius' interrogations were read in the courtroom today, actually, to save time. His trial will be more of a hearing than anything else."

Remus stared at him. "You're kidding."

Dumbledore sighed, and shook his head. "I'm sorry. But there's nothing the Wizengamot can do about this. We've reviewed all the evidence ten times over, as well as Sirius' side of what happened. Tomorrow will be his only chance."

"That isn't a chance at all!" Remus suddenly exploded. "If anything, that's more of an excuse to just off him without the complications of a real trial!"

Dumbledore sighed. "I know—"

"Then why aren't you doing anything to stop it?" Remus demanded, rounding on him. "You yourself said he was innocent—"

"I never said any such thing."

"But you believe it, don't you?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, I do. But I don't have any power to overrule the Ministry—"

Remus let out a roar of frustration. He appeared as though he was dying to force the bookshelves over. "So we just let it happen?"

"No—"

"He is going to die—"

"—if we demand an appeal, the Ministry will be forced to put his sentence on hold," said Dumbledore in a loud, clear voice. Remus fell silent, turning his head sideways to stare at him.

"Like the Ministry would bother."

"Regardless of whether or not they want to, it's the law," said Dumbledore, a slight frown on his face.

"Yeah, because they really give a damn," Remus muttered. "In order to convict anyone, a proper trial must be given. But that's just too time-consuming, so it's better if we go ahead and throw them in prison—"

"You are not helping Sirius with your arguing, Remus," said Dumbledore in a patronizing tone.

"And you're not helping by leaving him to fend for himself!" Remus countered hotly. He was far too overcome with mixed emotions to care that he was being rude. He moved back to the counter and pulled on his coat. "I'm going."

"Where?"

"The Ministry," Remus muttered, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"Remus—"

"I've already let him down in what has to be the worst way possible," said Remus stiffly. "I'm not doing it again."

"Remus," said Dumbledore firmly. "Even if they let you inside to speak with a Ministry official, there's nothing you can do. They will ignore you, and force you to leave the premises."

Remus shook his head. "I don't care. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try."

"You don't understand," said Dumbledore firmly. "Once you come barging in the Ministry, shouting to the heavens that Sirius is innocent, they'll take you for a madman and omit your evidence. Once the appeal arrives, they won't find you a credible witness. Cornelius and Barty are extremely ambitious men, and they have made it clear they are willing to overlook the law if it means an advance in their careers. There is no such thing as a seat of power without corruption. You would be doing Sirius far more harm than good if you went to the Ministry."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait while Sirius is locked up in Azkaban for ten years while the Ministry debates how long they can delay his appeal?"

"There are certain people in the Ministry who can raise enough trouble to keep that from happening," said Dumbledore. "Fudge and Crouch can't bear another scandal. I daresay if word of such an event landed in the hands of—oh, say, Rita Skeeter—then the appeal is guaranteed."

"That's not good enough!" Remus shouted, yanking his scarf off and throwing it to the floor.

"I know," said Dumbledore softly. "But it's the only thing we have."

"And what if he loses the appeal as well?" Remus said weakly, waving a hand in the air.

Dumbledore sighed. "Then he's better off dead."

Remus shot him an expressionless stare. "I want to speak with him."

_

* * *

Edna Lively was in her office, preparing a much-desired cup of tea when the door suddenly burst open, revealing the Minister of Magic. Lively gazed at him with slightly narrowed eyes from behind her desk. _

"Black is due for his hearing tomorrow morning. He has just arrived from Azkaban, and we need a Healer to confirm he is of sound mind."

Lively stared at him. "Is he muttering senselessly to himself?"

"Well—no—"

"Then I'm sure he's sane enough," dismissed Lively.

Fudge sighed. "I know he's perfectly sane, but it's for the formalities, and...legal matters."

Lively didn't respond as she took a sip from her cup. "Every time I think I'm finally done with this man, you always drag him right back in," she sighed.

"I know exactly how you mean, my dear," said Fudge placidly"But this will all be over within the week. Once his sentence is carried out, he'll be out of our lives for the most part."

Lively stared at him. "'For the most part'?" she repeated.

"The Dementor's Kiss," explained Fudge.

Lively's mouth dropped. "No, no, _no. _You are _not _landing me with him—"

"He will be locked away in the basement corridors like all the others," said Fudge as calmly as he could. "You know as well as I do that you don't have to personally bother with him—"

"Are you out of your mind?" she said, almost hysterical. "Even though he'll be a shell, I do not want him in this hospital—"

"We can't just dump him in Azkaban afterwards—"

"Why?" countered Lively. "It's not like he'd notice. Besides, he'll die far quicker that way, and that's certainly better than a death that takes fifty years. I do not want him here. And it's just not my personal reasons. The public knows well enough we keep our abalone shells in the hospital—"

"And they'll be fully aware it's absolutely impossible that Black can provide even the slightest threat against so much as a moth—"

"—it'll be chaos! People will be rushing into this hospital, all of them trying to find ways downstairs to murder Black themselves—"

"—the public won't be informed of his location—"

"—but they'll certainly figure it out!"

Both Fudge and Lively sighed, glaring at each other.

It was going to be a long trial.

_

* * *

As Remus left, Dumbledore retired to the cafeteria for a nice cup of tea, or perhaps a large brandy. The moment he had his drink, he turned around to see the Head of the Wizengamot sitting at a nearby table, a half-empty glass in hand. Dumbledore headed towards him, taking a seat across from the equally worn-looking man. _

"I take it you're coming, then?" he asked when he saw Dumbledore take a seat.

"I am," said Dumbledore. There was no twinkle in his blue eyes.

"You know the real reason why they changed it to a sentencing rather than an actual trial, don't you?" the man asked wryly.

"I have my suspicions," Dumbledore answered, taking a long sip.

"You're probably right, then," he confirmed, waggling an aged finger at him. "It's a straight go—the entire court is dead set on a guilty verdict. The only problem that ever arose amongst them was what to sentence him with. And now that that's been taken care of..." he trailed off. "I still don't see what you're getting at, Albus."

"How do you mean?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"Oh, I've worked with you long enough, and I've known you even longer. You don't think Black is guilty—"

"I never said that."

"Yes, but you believe it."

"I believe there are grave mistakes, yes," said Dumbledore. "But no one can be certain at the present time."

"Legally, he's innocent," the wizened man continued. "He's got to be _proven _guilty first, even if it was perfectly obvious he was in the first place." He shook his head. "Politics theses days—the little power-hungry lads don't care about the finer details as long as wrinkles are smoothed out as fast as possible—doesn't even matter how, anymore.

"But I guess there's not too much we can do but give these kids hell," he continued. "Of course, they'll probably cop out with the same excuse—us old geezers are losing our minds with age. Don't have a clue what we're going on about." He shook his head. "To be handed straight to the dementors without a proper trial...even Black doesn't deserve that. And if he is innocent," he added, sighing heavily. "Well, we'll be stuck wondering what the world has come to."

_

* * *

Despite how utterly exhausted he was, Sirius refused to sleep. Even though he was shackled and locked in his old interrogation room with nothing but the bare furniture as company, he was going to take advantage of every second of peace while he could. He knew this time tomorrow, he would probably be back in Azkaban, this time waiting to have his soul sucked out. _

He was not going to sleep on his last night of being sane and properly alive.

Just then, multiple sets of approaching footsteps could be heard. Sirius shut his eyes, leaning his head against the back of his chair. _Go away, _he commanded silently.

Naturally, the invaders ignored his thoughts.

The sudden absence of footsteps told Sirius they were right outside the heavily barred door. A moment later, a rather worn and annoyed-looking Auror appeared in the doorway. "A very disgruntled Remus Lupin has been demanding to see you," he said. It was clear that he was highly over-worked and getting what fun he could to lighten it up for himself. "Can you guess why?"

Sirius stared at him, a crease between his eyes. "Revenge?"

Strangely, the Auror winked at him, clearly amused by Sirius' answer. "Bingo," he said simply, stepping back to allow the other man to enter. "No killing each other. Not on my watch, at least." He slammed the door shut, and Sirius heard the various locks click into place.

For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Remus and Sirius stared at each other wordlessly. Remus finally broke the stillness by clearing his throat and sitting down stiffly in the chair across from Sirius.

"How did you get down here?"

"Dumbledore," answered Remus tightly. "He pulled a number of strings."

Sirius immediately noticed Remus' uncomfortable agitation. "I'm not going to attack you," he confirmed in a weary voice.

"No...no, it's not that," said Remus quickly, waving a hand dismissively. Unless Sirius was imagining it, he thought he heard an apologetic note in his voice. He frowned.

Remus sighed. "I—how are you?"

Sirius studied him for a moment before shrugging. "I've been better." He wasn't too sure what was going on. Remus was giving out too many mixed signals. "You?"

Remus shrugged as well. "Miserable, actually," he said simply.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Sirius, still watching him with a furrowed brow. Then he added wryly, "Because of me, I take it?"

"No," said Remus. His tone was so light as to be almost conversational. Sirius was really thrown off now. "No, not because of you." He smiled humorlessly. "More because of me than anything else."

Sirius didn't know how to respond to this; he settled for taking a slow sip of water from the glass that had been sitting on the table untouched for several hours.

Remus shook his head. "I should have believed you from the start."

Sirius choked on the water, almost dropping the glass.

"It's really that bad, huh?" said Remus darkly.

"No," said Sirius quickly, coughing slightly and setting the glass back on the table. "It's just...how did you find out?"

Remus looked at him hard. "I didn't," he said simply.

Sirius frowned.

"It took me so long as to be almost worthless," Remus continued, shrugging. "But that day at the hospital...I finally realized I already knew."

Sirius stared at him, completely taken aback and not knowing what to say.

Remus placed his elbows on the table, running his hands through his hair distractedly. "I'm so sorry. I... I don't even know what to say," he said stiffly, reemerging and shrugging helplessly. He sighed sadly, staring at the table before fixing his gaze on Sirius, who simply stared back with an unreadable mix of emotions.

"I... Shit, Sirius!" he suddenly exploded, slamming his fist on the table. The water sloshed in its glass unnoticed. "You know what's going to happen to you, right?"

"That's not necessarily true," said Sirius placatingly, not believing his own words. "The trial—"

"Isn't even happening," Remus interrupted bitterly. Sirius broke off, staring at him. Remus breathed an angry sigh as though it would help calm him down. "Tomorrow is just an excuse to clear the legal matters of..." Remus waved his hand, trying to find words to describe what was to happen without saying it outright. Frustration immediately took over as Remus suddenly leapt to his feet and began pacing the tiny room restlessly. It was a sign of how overwhelmed he was when he suddenly began cursing.

"And it's all my bloody fault, too—"

"Remus—"

"—if I never turned you away that night, or...or realized it a hell of a lot sooner—"

"—you couldn't have done anything—"

"—Why are you so calm?" Remus demanded, suddenly rounding on Sirius. "You realize that even if we give the Ministry hell, it may not do anything? For one, you're still going to be chucked into Azkaban if they don't murder you first." He shook his head, throwing shaking hands in the air. "I don't even want to think about what'll happen if we lose the appeal," he added darkly. "And you...Harry— oh, hell—" he suddenly broke off, looking as though he was ready to smash the table. Instead he pressed his forehead against the cold, stone wall and hit either side with his fists.

Sirius let Remus argue himself into silence. He had no idea what to say to him.

Remus sighed and turned around, the back of his head resting against the wall. "And even if... if all goes well... I don't think I'd ever be able to make it up to you—"

"Remus, don't even worry about that," said Sirius quickly, turning to look at him.

Remus opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and sighed, shaking his head. "How can I not?" he said with a humorless chuckle. "It was obvious from the beginning that it wasn't you."

Sirius sighed. "There's no point in blaming yourself, you—" He broke off. "There was nothing you could have done, even if you did know."

"Like hell I couldn't," Remus countered bitterly. "I could have stopped you from getting arrested—"

"Remus—"

"—I could have kept you from being sent to Azkaban—"

"—I'm serious, Remus—"

"—and after they torture you some more with Azkaban, they're going to just finish it off and rip out your soul, and all because —!" He let out a frustrated and defeated sigh, shaking his head.

Both Sirius and Remus fell silent at this last remark. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Sirius sighed. "It's not your fault."

Remus snorted disbelievingly. "And how do you figure that?"

Sirius shook his head. "I knew I would be caught after I brought Harry back, if not before. So that's my doing. Because Peter had to lay so many counts in my name, the Wizengamot... decided the worst—again, not your doing. I'm currently wanted dead by nearly everyone in England because of Peter; not you. And James and Lily—"

Remus frowned as Sirius broke off.

"James and Lily...are only dead," he said stiffly, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "because of me."

"Sirius—"

"Oh, come on," snapped Sirius half-heartedly. "We both know perfectly well none of this would have happened if I wasn't such an arse—"

"You couldn't have known, Sirius," said Remus firmly.

"But just like _you _said, I should have known from the beginning. I should have realized you could never have been the spy. Only I..." He disappeared behind his hands. "I was the one who killed my best friend and his wife."

He reemerged suddenly, chin resting against tightly-clasped hands. He wouldn't look at Remus.

Sirius felt a hand on his shoulder suddenly. The simple gesture of comfort nearly threw him off guard.

"Sirius," said Remus softly. "Sirius, there is no way any of us could have known what would happen. You can't blame yourself for James' and Lily's death—"

Sirius snorted, which immediately became a sharp intake of breath as he tried in vain to keep his face straight. He felt Remus' grip tighten slightly. Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him. For a split second Sirius stiffened in surprise, then relaxed in the embrace.

He would not let himself fall apart.

When Remus was called away and Sirius was alone in the small interrogation room once more, he vaguely wondered how many hours he had until morning came.


	30. the hearing

A/N: Once more, a short chapter. Enjoy.

"The vilest deeds like poison-weeds  
bloom well in prison air:  
It is only what is good in Man  
that wastes and withers there.  
Pale anguish keeps the heavy gate  
And the Warder is despair."  
-Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of the Reading Gaol

_The hearing was _strictly a private affair, but many witches and wizards managed to flood various levels of the Ministry in an attempt to catch word of what was going on as it happened. Finally security managed to force most of them out. Many hid in restrooms or pretended (some even outright created) an excuse to stay in the Ministry, ranging from complaints of cursed objects to checking to make sure they were up-to-date on their Apparition License Registration.

The entire bottom level of the Ministry had been sealed off, and only certain Ministry officials were allowed down. While the date and time of the Hearing was never released, word spread as rapidly as it would have among Hogwarts students.

"We'll do the best we can," said Dumbledore comfortingly to a very pale Remus Lupin. "It may not be enough, though, you understand."

Jaw clenched tightly, Remus nodded. He looked as though he was going to be sick.

"Amelia Bones will be at the Hearing, so you'll have to fill out the appeal forms in advance with her secretary. Once the hearing ends, if it does indeed go the way we fear, I'll send word to you there. The sooner we get the forms turned in, the better chance we have. I'm quite certain Fudge and Crouch aren't in any delay to attempt to carry out the sentence as soon as possible."

Remus felt his stomach turn at this. While he knew the appeal would guarantee a delay, that didn't mean it would give him a permanent reprieve. If they lost the appeal as well...

"It will be okay, Remus," said Dumbledore soothingly. "We're doing everything we can for Sirius."

Remus bit his lip. "What if it's not enough?"

Dumbledore half-shrugged, half-sighed. "We'll have to break him out of Azkaban." It was hard to tell if he was serious or not.

Dumbledore pulled a gold pocket watch out from between the depths of his plum-colored robes. "It will be starting in twenty minutes. I must go down to the courtroom now." He gazed at Remus as he put the watch away. "You'll be all right, then?"

Remus nodded stiffly. "First floor, right?"

"Second door on the left," confirmed Dumbledore. He grasped Remus' shoulder briefly before disappearing down a stone staircase that led to the lowest level of the Ministry. Remus stared at his disappearing back, heart beating furiously against his throat. Sirius was locked away down there, and any moment his excuse for a trial would begin.

Snapping out of his reverie, Remus turned on his heel and walked briskly past the Ministry officials guarding the floor and to the golden lift that would take him towards the surface. The lift was completely empty when Remus entered, and he watched the guards standing by staring at him as the lift burst into life and began to ascend. A moment later, he was staring at shadowed brick on the other side of the grilles.

Reaching the very crowded first floor, just below the main level, Remus began heading directly towards Amelia Bones' office, ignoring everything else around him.

_

* * *

Dumbledore descended the stone staircase that led to the lowest level of the Ministry. As he walked down the dim corridor, many officials in the hall nodded to him in polite acknowledgment as they carried on their whispered conversations. Dumbledore descended another small set of stairs around a corner and saw the door to Courtroom Ten was open. Through the small frame, he could see various witches and wizards in the same plum robes, taking their seats and whispering with their neighbors._

"So what mad scheme have you concocted this time, Albus?"

Dumbledore turned to see his longtime friend and Head of the Wizengamot, Jude Dufresne. "Mad scheme?" he repeated, a slight twinkle appearing in his eye for the first time in days.

"I've been up all night reviewing the notes that weren't covered when we reviewed the evidence," Dufresne said in a low voice, checking to make sure no one was listening. "Apparently the scene of the explosion wasn't handled properly. No notes were made of witnesses' exact words. No photographs taken of the sight. They didn't even take measurements of where Black and Pettigrew would have to have been compared to the _single account _taken by a highly-shaken muggle.

"It's enough to raise serious doubt, had it been four years ago," he continued. "But once you tell the world a story, and they believe it for a few years, it's not going to go away." He shook his head. "It's not going to be nearly enough for Black. And that's just the explosion. We have absolutely nothing in his defense about the Potters."

Dumbledore studied him for a moment before saying, "Does this mean you believe Black's story?"

"I believe there are grave mistakes," said Dufresne with a wry smile, voicing Dumbledore's words from the previous evening. "Legally, yes, he is; even after this bloody excuse for a trial. Morally? I'm not sure. I only have the evidence—or lack thereof—to go by. And I'm getting old."

"Your judgement has yet to wither, Jude," said Dumbledore with a dry smile.

"Unfortunately, the ears of the Ministry certainly have," he replied darkly. "You know, I'm not sure this is even legal." He sighed. "Well, we'd best take our seats. They're going to destroy another potentially-innocent life in a few minutes."

_

* * *

Remus reached the office and immediately took the small stack of necessary forms. One glance at them told him he'd better write quickly. He took a seat on a wooden pew against the wall in the corridor and began furiously writing out answers, trying to keep his hand steady._

Just as he covered all the basic information, he pulled out a slip of parchment that Dumbledore had given him. It was a list of all the charges against Sirius.

_Two counts accomplice to murder  
__Thirteen counts murder  
__One count use of magic in muggle presence  
__One count association with the Dark Lord (Death Eater activity)  
__One count child kidnap  
__Numerous counts Improper Use of Magic (illegal Portkeys, et al.)  
__Numerous counts illegal immigration/traveling  
__Numerous counts of muggle theft (petty) and trespassing_

Remus managed to squeeze the list on the forms in minute writing, appalled of the charges against Sirius. Not only because half of them were false, but also because the second half only occurred because the Ministry indirectly forced Sirius into it. It was beyond ridiculous.

When Remus came across the _Reason for Appeal Request _he almost laughed humorlessly. _Where to begin, _he thought vaguely.

_Lack of proper trial; incorrect handling of evidence; incorrect handling of case._

Remus flipped to the next page, and continued. This page was requesting information strictly from the trial—or lack thereof—including the date, size, extent of formality, and the names of the officials presiding over it. As Remus wrote the information down, he couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. He was sitting comfortably while Sirius was left to face the Ministry alone.

When he had signed off at the bottom of the last page, Remus sighed and leaned back, waiting.

_

* * *

Sirius paced the tiny interrogation room restlessly, feeling like he was going mad. The Hearing was going to begin any moment now, and Sirius knew he was as good as dead. While Dumbledore and Remus were going to try and get him an appeal, he knew Fudge and Crouch were going to try to carry out his sentence beforehand._

At the thought of what was bound to come, Sirius was almost sick. That was not the way to go; he would rather die.

The noise out in the corridor was disappearing; that meant everyone was taking their places in the courtroom. Any moment now, it would begin.

Before he could silently beg the brick walls around him to delay it a little longer, the heavy door in the corner of the room opened. He felt a thrill of horror and recoiled slightly when he saw that it was not Aurors who had come, but two dementors.

Silently they glided into the room like an evil cloud of smoke, flanking him on either side and grasping his arms tightly with their dead, rotted hands. As he was led out of the room and down the dark corridor, Sirius tried to focus on something—anything—other than the horrified screams that began to play faintly in the back of his mind like a record player.

What seemed like a lifetime later, Sirius found himself in the dimly-lit courtroom, subject to the stares of everyone present. He hardly noticed the chains of his chair writhing into life and circling themselves around his arms as the dementors left. However, the cold, piercing stares were hardly much better company.

Crouch stood up. It was clear he has worn thin by the shadows under his eyes, but he also had a triumphant gleam in his black eyes. Sirius stared up at him unflinchingly.

"Sirius Black," he said in a loud, clear voice. "You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgment on you, for crimes varying in number and atrocity. These crimes are as follows:

"Numerous counts of improper use of magic, illegal immigration, petty muggle theft, and trespassing. One count of the use of magic in muggle presence. One count of association with the Dark Lord. One count of the kidnap of one Harry James Potter. Two counts of accomplice to murder. Thirteen counts of murder." He paused before continuing, "Do you deny these charges?"

"Half of them," Sirius responded clearly. He waited for the blow to fall.

Speaking over the raging whispers that had filled the courtroom, Crouch said, "Which half do you deny?"

Sirius sighed inwardly before continuing. "I did not betray the Potters to Lord Voldemort—" there was a collective shudder around the court. "—I did not kill thirteen people, and I am not a Death Eater."

Crouch looked down at him skeptically. "Have you any proof?"

"The only proof I have," said Sirius slowly. "Is currently hiding in the sewers as a rat. Peter Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus."

"Can anyone give testimony to this statement?"

Sirius paused. He hadn't wanted to drag Remus into this. "Remus Lupin."

Crouch nodded to his secretary seated behind him, who quickly made a note of it. "We will look into this. If that is all, I'm afraid your evidence does very little to sway the charges against you."

"Actually," said Dumbledore, speaking up. Everyone turned to look at him. "If I might ask a few questions of my own, regarding Mr. Black's statement?"

Crouch glanced darkly at Sirius before saying curtly, "Very well." It was clear he wasn't happy about Dumbledore meddling in his Hearing.

"Mr. Black," said Dumbledore clearly, focusing his gaze on Sirius. "You are familiar with the Dark Mark?"

"Yes," answered Sirius, wondering where this was going.

"You know of its appearance?"

"Yes."

"Can you describe it for the court."

Sirius frowned slightly before saying, "A skull with a snake running through its mouth."

"The Wizengamot has collected recent evidence that Lord Voldemort branded his mark into the forearm of every Death Eater to have ever pledged allegiance to him. Do you have this mark on your arm?"

Sirius could have grinned. "No, I don't."

Once more, there was a collective wave of muttering in the courtroom.

"Ah, then it will be news to you that this mark burns black whenever Lord Voldemort wishes to call his followers to him. We have collected evidence that, in the meantime, this mark appears as a rather ugly, reddish scar. Mr. Crouch, might we check the validation of his statement?" said Dumbledore, looking at Crouch politely. Crouch was returning the gaze with daggers.

"Very well. Dawlish," snapped Crouch, nodding at an Auror who was standing guard near the only exit. The Auror stepped forward and yanked Sirius' sleeve up roughly, revealing only smooth skin. Like a swarm of angry bees, the whispering reached new volumes.

Crouch, however displeased and taken aback, was not deterred. "As I'm sure Mr. Dumbledore is aware, there are spells and potions to conceal scars."

The court fell silent at this. It was almost like watching a heated ping-pong match, the way everything was going back and forth.

"Indeed there are," said Dumbledore calmly. "But for the past month Mr. Black has had no contact with potions, nor wand."

"I am afraid," said Crouch stiffly. "This evidence cannot be validated in this Court. There are too many factors. Black could have charmed it to keep it from appearing to the eye before he was caught. Wandless magic. Maybe he doesn't have the Mark, solely because the Dark Lord chose not to mark him. We could go into all the reasons, but that is not the purpose for this Court."

The room was silent. Sirius stared up at Crouch, his face expressionless but his eyes quite cold.

"If you have no other evidence to support your statement," said Crouch, a smug look on his face. "Then I am afraid we cannot waive those charges. As for the others," he continued, his voice increasing in tone slightly. "You say you do not deny these charges?"

"No, I don't."

"Very well," said Crouch, waving unconcernedly to his secretary, who made a note of this. "If you have no other evidence to present in your defense, then I now ask the Wizengamot how they find." He turned to the left side of the room, which was almost completely comprised of purple-clad jurors. "For the crime of Death Eater activity, raise your hands if you find Sirius Black guilty." All but two hands were raised. Sirius watched them silently, already knowing it was over. "For betraying Lily and James Potter to the Dark Lord, raise your hands if you find Sirius Black guilty." Once more, only two hands remained down. "And for the murders of twelve muggles and Peter Pettigrew," said Crouch clearly, his voice tinged with triumph. "raise your hands if you find Sirius Black guilty."

Sirius watched as Dumbledore and another aged wizard he didn't recognize remain deftly still while the others, for a third time, raised their hands into the air.

"Sirius Black, this Court finds you guilty of all charges against you, on this day, January twenty-ninth of 1986." His voice was laced with cold triumph, matching the stares of nearly everyone around him. "You are hereby sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss, to be carried out as is seen fit, without appeal."

Sirius' head snapped in his direction. Surely he misheard.

"This Court is abjured," said Crouch loudly as the room suddenly filled with jeering and coldly triumphant voices.


	31. the escape room

A/N: Hope everyone had a good holiday and such. A fair bit of time passes by in this chapter, and...surprises!

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."

-Martin Luther King Jr.

* * *

"_What?" Remus exploded._

"It's not over yet," said Dumbledore calmly, though his eyes were hard.

"Well, what the bloody hell are we supposed to do now? Attack the Ministry to cause a diversion?"

"Not quite, no," said Dumbledore. Remus stared at him furiously. How could he just _stand _there when Sirius was practically going to be murdered?

Madam Bones appeared around the corner suddenly, in a rather loud and heated conversation with the Minister of Magic.

"I don't care who authorized it, they have no right to change the sentence—"

"My dear, after the Kiss is administered, what does it matter if Black is granted an appeal?" Fudge countered as calmly as he could.

"Because that sentence is not allowed to be carried out while an appeal is registered!" she exploded. She caught sight of Dumbledore, and said, "The Wizengamot decided on the Dementor's Kiss, and _only _the Dementor's Kiss, yes?"

"Indeed," said Dumbledore in conversational tones.

Madam Bones rounded on Fudge. "As obviously guilty as Black is, it wouldn't be _lawful _to refuse him the possibility of an appeal—"

"As I'm sure you're aware, appeals are only used in response to a trial—"

"And as I'm sure _you're aware, _convicted murderers, Death Eaters, and so on are to have a proper, full-length trial, regardless of time restraints. And I know we stretched this a few years ago," she said loudly, overriding Fudge's interruption. "But You-Know-Who isn't here anymore, so I really don't see what the problem is!"

Fudge sighed exasperatedly. "And who in their right mind would register an appeal in Black's name?"

"Why, myself of course," said Dumbledore. Everyone turned to stare at him.

"You?" Fudge sputtered after a moment, gaping at him.

"Yes, me," he replied, eyes twinkling for the first time in days. "I understand your hands are tied, Cornelius, and the demands of the public. But, unfortunately," he said delicately. "Even the most notorious of criminals has the right to a fair and proper trial."

Remus frowned, watching him. He knew Dumbledore well enough not to interrupt.

"If we may, I'd like to discuss the matter with you in your office," Dumbledore continued, picking up the forms Remus had left sitting on the bench, forgotten. He looked to the others. "Amelia," he said acknowledging, nodding in her direction. "Remus, I will send word sometime this evening. Perhaps we can continue our discussion when you get off work."

Remus stared at him, frowning slightly. "Very well," he said rather stiffly. He saw Dumbledore wink at him, but wasn't sure anyone else did. He followed Fudge down the hall and soon disappeared.

"Don't worry," said Madam Bones soothingly, turning to Remus. "He'll get it sorted out. There is no way Fudge and Crouch will be able to get away with this. It's completely illegal."

Remus nodded, forcing a smile. Madam Bones placed a hand comfortingly on his shoulder before disappearing inside her office, leaving Remus alone in the cavernous hall.

That evening found Remus pacing his living room restlessly. He had tried to distract himself with a few books, repairing all the creaky cabinets and shoveling the snow from the walkway, but nothing worked. Finally, he gave up and waited anxiously for Dumbledore to arrive with news on the appeal.

He was wringing his hands so tightly he kept accidentally cracking his own knuckles.

The moment Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace, Remus whipped around and almost yelled, "What happened?"

"There will be an appeal," said Dumbledore calmly, raising a hand as though to stop any future panicked outbursts.

Remus breathed a sigh of relief. He doubted his legs would support him much longer, and sank down on his beaten couch.

"It will take some time, however," Dumbledore continued. Remus looked up at him. "The Ministry is now sorting through Rookwood's case, and clearing Igor Karkaroff's name. It will be a few months at the least. Sirius will be in Azkaban in the meantime."

Remus shut his eyes, letting himself fall back onto the cushions. "A few months?" he repeated hollowly, more to himself than to Dumbledore, who took a seat across from him. "Even two weeks seemed to tear him apart."

"I know," said Dumbledore softly. Remus opened his eyes and saw a dejected expression on the man's face that he hadn't seen before.

_

* * *

The weeks passed by slowly. Harry was starting to get used to life with the Dursleys, but he certainly didn't enjoy it. While his aunt and uncle seemed to become accustomed to ignoring his presence, Dudley was continuing his daily tirades against Harry's existence._

Mid-March, Aunt Petunia finally tired of the nurse's calls and took Harry in to see an optometrist. He was prescribed a pair of glasses, and Aunt Petunia selected the cheapest pair she could find: simple, wire-rimmed glasses with circular lenses.

Following his aunt briskly back to the car that afternoon, Harry marveled at how sharp everything was. He had grown so used to the fuzzy borders of things, that being able to see properly absorbed all of his attention.

"Harry!"

Harry jumped in surprise, and looked up at his aunt.

"Stop standing there, and get in the car. We're going home."

Harry did as he was told, carefully examining every detail of the world around him. He was excited to be able to see this well.

His happiness quickly drained, however, the moment he returned to Number Four. Dudley had taken it upon himself to "accidentally" shove Harry as he was heading upstairs, causing his glasses to fall off. Dudley spent the next several days concocting ways of annoying Harry, ranging from creative names to methods of knocking Harry's glasses off every hour.

A few times he even hid them.

When Dudley finally broke them a few days before Easter, Aunt Petunia yelled at her son. Harry was shocked and amazed; he had never seen Aunt Petunia scold her own son, let alone over Harry.

Tears filled Dudley's piggy eyes as he tried explaining in vain to his mother that he didn't break them; rather, Harry did.

That afternoon, both children sat in the optometrist's office while Aunt Petunia ordered a new lense for Harry's glasses. Harry absentmindedly kicked his feet as he examined the paintings on the office walls. Dudley sat with his arms folded, occasionally glaring at him. Aunt Petunia merely sat with one knee over the other, skimming through a month-old copy of a gossip magazine.

As Aunt Petunia stood up to pick up the prescription, Dudley kicked Harry sideways, shooting him a triumphant look. Harry glared back coldly through his cracked glasses.

"Come on," Aunt Petunia announced briskly, returning a moment later with a slip of paper in her bony hand.

_

* * *

By June, Remus was sitting on the same old pew outside of Madam Bones' office, waiting for news of the appeal. Remus heard footsteps, and half-turned his head to see a red-haired wizard in equally shabby robes approaching._

"Been waiting long?" he asked, sitting down next to him, a box crammed with folders in his arms.

"A lifetime," Remus answered. It certainly felt like one, though he was sure it can't have been more than twenty minutes. And he had arrived almost an hour early.

During his constant trips to the Ministry, Remus often ran into the red-haired wizard, though he had yet to find out his name. They usually exchanged a few pleasantries before continuing on their separate business. While Remus hardly knew him, he rather liked the man.

"Just wait until you try and get into Fudge's office," said the man, shaking his head slightly. "Amelia usually has better luck than I do. I think it has to do with our departments."

"Where do you work?"

"Misuse of Muggle Artifacts," he replied proudly. "I've always found muggles to be absolutely fascinating."

"My father's a muggle," Remus offered. The man's face lit up.

"Is he really? Then you must have grown up with those frigidaires—"

"Refrigerators?"

"Yes, those. How do they work? I mean—" he dropped his voice, making sure no one in the deserted hall was eavesdropping. "I've got my own shed back home. I tinker with the things, see if I can't figure out all their uses and possibilities myself. Of course," he added rather sheepishly. "my wife thinks I'm a bit mad, actually."

Remus smiled. "I have no idea how they work, actually," he said truthfully. "I don't think most muggles themselves know. It was always just plug it in the electrical socket, and there you are. Something about the electricity powering something or other, which in turn keeps the food cold."

"I've worked a lot with muggle electisy, but after I told Molly about a wizard in Kent who accidentally set fire to his entire house when he experimented with it, she absolutely refuses to let me have a go at it myself." He shook his head, then turned back to Remus, as though just remembering something. "Name's Arthur Weasley, by the way."

"Remus Lupin," Remus answered, shaking the man's hand.

Finally the office door opened, and two disgruntled-looking couples marched out without a backward glance. Madam Bones cast them one last dark look before her gaze fell on Remus and Mr. Weasley.

"I hope you're here with dinner," Madam Bones said to Mr. Weasley, a wry smile on her face.

"Even better," he replied, pulling a circular tin from amongst the folders. "Molly's ever-famous plum cake."

Madam Bones' face lit up. Suddenly she took on a suspicious expression, and said, "What did you do now?"

"Nothing," said Mr. Weasley quickly, holding up his hands. "Just...bribing you for a tiny favor."

Madam Bones stared at him with narrowed eyes, though there was amusement in her face. "Uh huh?"

"Yes," he said briskly. "About my car—"

"If you fly that thing and get caught, there's nothing I can do," she said immediately, shaking her head.

"I haven't even gotten that far," said Mr. Weasley sadly. "I was wondering if you could perhaps get me Emerson's address. I've been meaning to meet with him about his excellent levitation charms."

Madam Bones shook her head, biting her lower lip, as though she knew it would be a very bad idea. "Fine," she said finally. "But if that car of yours does manage to fly, don't you dare mention my name."

"With Merlin as my witness," he said, a slight smile on his face before heading back down the corridor.

Madam Bones turned to Remus, who was still seated in the bench. "You're early."

"Yes," said Remus, standing up. "I was hoping if you know anything of—"

"It just now was recognized by the Wizengamot," she said with a small sigh. "Under normal circumstances, that would have happened months ago. The soonest you could hope for—and I mean a slim chance here—is maybe mid-October."

Remus stared at her. "You're kidding."

She shook her head, half-shrugging. "I'm sorry, but I can't do anything until an actual date is set. And that can't even happen until this great, long stupid process is carried out. I bet you anything Fudge is drawing it out as long as he can so he doesn't have to deal with it at the moment. I don't think he's quite recovered after Rookwood's arrest. The media is still having a go at him."

"So Sirius is just supposed to sit in Azkaban for months because Fudge cares a bit too much about his reputation?" Remus said angrily.

"Yes," said Madam Bones. "And while Dumbledore can keep pestering him, and we can threaten him with the likes of Rita Skeeter, I personally wouldn't count on anything happening until January."

Remus pinched between his eyes, trying to calm himself. "An entire year of his life would have disappeared by then."

"I know," she replied darkly. "But unless Dumbledore actually plans to literally break him out, there is nothing we can do. And I'm sure if Black was to be out of Azkaban, he would rather be out a free man."

As Remus headed toward the metal lift at the end of the corridor, he doubted whether Sirius would be picky about the circumstances when it came to leaving Azkaban.

_

* * *

Months passed slowly, and at six years old, Harry was finally able to start grade school. He and Dudley were, unfortunately, enrolled in the same class, much to each child's dismay. Despite spending the entire school day with his cousin, Harry was glad to start school. Not only was he able to get away from the monotonous schedule of Private Drive, but he had the chance to be around people who might actually enjoy his company. He vaguely thought of his old school in New York, and wondered if he would meet anyone like his old friend, Kim._

While Dudley was neatly dressed in a new set of clothes, crisply ironed and spotless, Harry was wearing an old pair of rather baggy pants and a sweater much too long for him. The sleeves were rolled up several times. Aunt Petunia was constantly annoyed that morning by how often Harry's sleeves fell down several inches below his hands, and finally pinned them back for him.

As they waited with all the other neighborhood children for the school bus, Harry stood as far away from Dudley as he could. Dudley didn't seem to notice or care. In fact, he seemed almost glad that no one made the connection between him and the glasses-wearing, frumpy boy.

"What grade are you in?" a girl in a lovely pink dress and a ponytail asked Harry, holding her notebook in front of her.

"First," answered Harry. "My teacher's Mr. Gallegos."

Her brow furrowed. "You talk funny. Where are you from?"

"I'm from here," Harry answered. "But I used to live in New York."

"You mean York?"

"No, _New _York. In America."

Her eyes lit up. "What's it like there?"

Harry thought about it. "A lot like here. Only everyone drives on the other side of the street, and we call our money 'dollars'."

"That's so strange," she said, turning to watch the approaching bus. "What's your name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Well, Harry, I might see you at school, then," she said, getting in line. Harry hesitated, glad that there were in fact people in this town that might actually like him.

His joy didn't last the morning.

Dudley made sure to keep everyone he and his gang had influence over from speaking to the Funny-Looking Boy in the Weird Glasses. Others simply wouldn't speak to him because their friends wouldn't. By lunchtime, this soon spread to the other two first-grade classes, who certainly didn't want to be caught hanging around the boy no one else wanted to be around.

Harry, sitting on a swing at recess and vaguely watching the other children around him, vowed to get Dudley back for this.

At least there was the girl in the pink dress. At least she would talk to him.

Riding the bus back home that afternoon, Harry sat behind the girl. When he had tried to say "hello" to her, she immediately opened up a book and snapped, "Don't talk to me."

Harry stared at her for a moment, trying to ask what was wrong, before she finally got up and moved to a different seat.

Harry sat alone on the bus the rest of the way home, forehead pressed against the window.

He was really going to get Dudley back for this. Not only was he miserable at Private Drive, but thanks to Dudley, he was also miserable at school, his only source of freedom.

_

* * *

By the following April, there was almost no progress by way of the Appeal. Remus tried to listen to Dumbledore's words—that the extra time meant a better chance for Sirius, since they were able to go over the evidence more thoroughly—but when a second year came and went, he finally lost it._

Walking into the crowded parlor of the Leaky Cauldron that October, Remus immediately spotted Rita Skeeter sitting alone at a corner table, arms folded with a partially-empty glass on the table in front of her.

"Here's the deal," he said briskly, sitting down across from her. "You don't mention me at all. You don't say you met someone here—or anywhere—and you don't mention that this came from an outside source, or any source, at all. And I will give you perhaps the biggest story yet."

Rita Skeeter studied him for a moment over her jeweled glasses before saying simply, "Deal."

Remus ordered a quick drink and in an undertone, began relaying everything he knew to Rita Skeeter, ranging from the improper handling of evidence and a bad investigation to the deliberate lack of a trial, solely for time purposes. Rita's acid green quill was recording everything so quickly, it was little more than a blur. Rita herself was completely enthralled by the information Remus was giving her.

Several hours later, when the pub began to empty and the story was recorded in minute writing, Rita sighed satisfactorily and looked at Remus. "There's nothing personal in this deal for you, so why tell me this, anyway?"

Remus shrugged. "Just doing my civic duty; giving the Ministry hell."

Rita smiled widely, revealing all her teeth. "You would almost want to consider journalism," he said, standing up and collecting her things. The quill and notes disappeared inside her handbag, and she was gone.

Remus leant back in his chair, a satisfied feeling washing over him as he swallowed the last gulp of his drink.

_

* * *

The next morning found the papers flooded with Rita Skeeter's article. Remus smiled when he saw the headline of the __Daily Prophet. "Conspiracy at the Ministry: Secret Operations Revealed"_. It would be just enough to get Fudge moving on the matter of the appeal. Almost two years had passed and Remus' patience had long since worn thin.found the papers flooded with Rita Skeeter's article. Remus smiled when he saw the headline of the . It would be just enough to get Fudge moving on the matter of the appeal. Almost two years had passed and Remus' patience had long since worn thin. 

Taking advantage of his long lunch break, Remus went to the Ministry with the intention of speaking to Madam Bones and finding out whether or not the article had forced Fudge's hand yet.

When he arrived, the main hall was buzzing with people trying to get in to see the Minister to register their complaints. Memos and owls were flying everywhere, many of which were carrying scarlet envelopes. Remus tried not to smile to himself as he stepped inside the lift and descended a floor.

The hall was filled with people, though far less than the entrance above. Remus squeezed through the crowds, but found Madam Bones' office was empty. Had she perhaps gone to lunch herself?

Remus headed back to the main floor where he assumed the cafeteria must be, and inside the lift, found Mr. Weasley and three red-haired boys.

"What brings you here?" he said, slightly surprised. "Remus, right?"

"Yes," he replied as the lift began to ascend. "I was looking for Madam Bones, but she's not in her office—"

"She's hiding out," Mr. Weasley replied in an undertone in Remus' ear. "People are stalking her trying to find a way to the Minister. Here, follow me—"

Remus tried his best to squeeze through the crowds behind Mr. Weasley and what he assumed were the man's sons. Two of them were identical to the last freckle while the third appeared to be the youngest, but almost equaled them in height.

Mr. Weasley led Remus to a side door at the end of the hall, labeled, "Registered Personnel Only." The new hall was very narrow; they had to walk in single file. It was lit from overhead with floating candles, and the pipes lining the left brick wall kept gurgling as water surged through.

"Down here," he said, descending a few steps before opening a door on the right. Remus and the boys followed—the twins occasionally jumping on their younger brother every time the pipes surged.

Remus soon found himself in what appeared to be a large, highly-polished lounge room. The walls, like the hallway leading to them, were brick and occasionally lined with pipes, but were adorned with elegant portraits in all the free spaces. Old but comfortable couches and chairs filled the center of the room while a few tables and chairs lined the borders. A few witches and wizards were relaxing and talking in a variety of tones; some were fast asleep.

"The 'upper' departments have a far nicer escape room," Mr. Weasley noted as he shut the door behind him. "But Amelia prefers this one by a long shot. I'm not really sure why. I guess she can't take the superior behavior of a lot of her coworkers."

"You said 'escape room'?" Remus, repeated, sure he misheard.

"Really it's supposed to be a lounge," said Mr. Weasley with a slight grin. "But we've long since dubbed it as an escape rout whenever we want to get away from a particularly chaotic day without actually leaving work."

"Give Scabbers back!" the youngest roared suddenly.

"Fred, George, stop it or I'll take you home," Mr. Weasley scolded to the twins. One of them rolled his eyes dramatically before holding out his arm and handing his brother back a particularly fat rat. Remus turned back to Mr. Weasley.

"I promised Fred and George I'd take them to work with me—of course this was weeks ago, long before Skeeter's article—and Ron wanted to come as well," he said, shaking his head slightly. "They wouldn't hear of it when I tried telling them they could go next month. I'm just glad it has nothing to do with my department."

"How's that car of yours coming?" Remus asked, smiling. He vaguely thought of Sirius' flying motorbike.

Mr. Weasley quickly looked to make sure no one was listening. "I'm meeting with Emerson next week, actually. We're going to talk it over then." Mr. Weasley turned to his sons. "You three stay here, and I mean it. Fred, George...if you try anything, I'll tell your mother. And watch over Ron—Ron, really, if you can't control that rat, you shouldn't have brought him. We'll be right back."

Remus glanced down at the rat Ron was trying to stuff in his pocket and froze. Stiffly following a disappearing Mr. Weasley, he asked as conversationally as he could, "How long has your son had that rat?"

"Well, it originally belonged to my third son, Percy," he answered. "He just started Hogwarts this year, so when Molly and I bought him an owl, he gave Scabbers to Ron. So we've had him—" he squinted, thinking. "About six years? Maybe seven. I'm not sure."

Remus felt lightheaded. "This is going to sound very strange, Arthur, but I have a favor to ask."


	32. prisoners

A/N: I told myself for ages that I wouldn't, under any circumstances, create a sequel. But halfway through, new plotlines kept forming. So there will be a poll! Would you prefer a detailed, single-chapter epilogue or a fully-fledged sequel?

"The public will believe anything, so long as it is not founded on truth."  
-Edith Sitwell

_Remus jerked awake _when someone gently shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes blearily, and in the dim light of the corridor, saw the Healer who had been examining Sirius.

"It's two in the morning," she said softly as Remus sat up, swinging his legs back over on the correct side of the cushioned chair he had been sleeping in. "You should get a proper rest, you know."

"How is he?" Remus asked.

"His numbers are a bit too low for our liking, and we're going to have to keep him here for a bit, but physically, he should be fine." She hesitated, then continued, "I should warn you, it's possible there may be some permanent damage."

Remus stared at her. "What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Have you ever heard of—? Well, muggles call it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

He frowned. "You're kidding."

She shrugged. "Unfortunately, it's quite common in people who leave Azkaban after a certain stretch of time. Of course it varies, depending on the individual, but most people with particularly traumatic pasts have no way to protect themselves in there. After undergoing relentless mental torture, nearly everyone I've treated has shut themselves off. And it's very hard to reverse that."

Remus sighed. "Is he awake? Can I see him?"

The Healer bit her lower lip, as though she was going against her better judgment. "All right," she said finally, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking the door.

Remus stood up, but hesitated.

He had been so anxious about finally seeing Sirius after all this time, so why was he wavering now?

Finally regaining control over his limbs, Remus knocked softly on the door before opening it.

The ward was small and the few beds lining the walls were empty. The portrait at the very end was sleeping, and the high, magic windows revealed the early morning world outside. Candles floating near the ceiling were lit, casting a dim glow around the silent ward. A lone man who appeared to have been pacing the empty stretch of floor in front of the portrait turned around when he heard the door open.

Remus' breath caught in his throat. His eyes were transfixed on his old friend, but were straining to look away. Miraculously, he was able to force himself to keep walking forward as though nothing was wrong, gently shutting the door behind him.

"What's going on, Remus?" Sirius asked in a slightly hoarse voice. While he had already cleaned himself up and changed into the clean clothes Remus had provided earlier, he looked terrible. Hollow, gray eyes peered at Remus questioningly, completely void of their usual warmth. Translucent skin was stretched tightly over his skeletal frame, contrasting with the dark shadows on his face.

"The appeal," Remus said, his voice just as hoarse. "I'm not sure if the Ministry wants to go that far, given the circumstances, but I know they still want to question you."

Sirius stared at him. "Why?"

Remus' eyes snapped back on him. "Haven't—haven't they told you?"

A slight crease formed between his deadened eyes. "Told me what?"

Remus opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Had no one really told Sirius that Peter Pettigrew had at last been found? He closed it, then tried again. "Peter was found. Early this afternoon."

Remus wasn't sure what type of reaction he was expecting, but the one Sirius gave was certainly at the bottom of the list. It was almost as though Remus had commented on the weather.

"Who found him?"

"A mutual friend of mine works at the Ministry," said Remus, sitting down on a nearby bed. Sirius remained standing, arms folded over his thin chest. "I ran into him on the lift when I was looking for Amelia Bones. He had three of his sons with him, one of which appeared to be about Harry's age. He had a pet rat with him."

He sighed before continuing. "Arthur didn't quite understand at the time, but the moment I forced Peter to transform—we were in a lounge inside the Ministry at this point—it was perfectly obvious." Remus smiled humorlessly. "I rather lost myself at this point. I jumped at him, pinning him to the ground with my wand to his throat. I had no idea what was going on around me, but I'm sure people were panicking. After I...after I threatened to kill him then and there, he finally admitted what he had done for everyone in the room to hear."

Remus paused, the day's events replaying in his mind's eye. He hadn't told anyone how strong the urge to kill Peter had been. Peter had murdered so many people, and ruined so many lives, all to save his own selfish skin. For a moment, while clutching a struggling Peter's worn robes with his wand tip pressing into his throat, Remus had yelled, "Stop!" Peter immediately stopped struggling, but it wasn't he whom Remus was talking to. He had come so close to ending it all, to giving Peter what he truly deserved.

Finding his voice, he continued, "Someone ran off to try and fetch a few Aurors who weren't being harassed, and most people in that room didn't know what to think.

"I'm not too sure what happened then. It was rather chaotic. I remember Aurors, who of course didn't believe a word of it until they saw Peter for themselves, finally arrived. I don't know where they took him. Probably to one of the interrogation rooms."

Sirius looked away, apparently deep in thought. Remus continued to watch him for signs that he was relieved, or that he at least knew what this meant. If Sirius felt anything at this news, he didn't betray it.

_It's just Azkaban, _Remus told himself firmly. _Nothing's really changed; he just got out of Azkaban. That's all this is._

"Remus?"

Remus looked up. "Yes?" he said a little too quickly.

"You're cutting the circulation off to your hands."

Remus looked down, and saw that he was wringing his hands so tightly that they had begun to turn blue. "Oh. Right."

"Are you all right?" he asked after a moments' silence.

Remus' head snapped up. He was taken aback by the absurdity of the question; he was the one who was supposed to be asking it. "Fine," he said as unconcernedly as he could. Sirius didn't look convinced.

He didn't press the matter, however. Instead, he sat down cross-legged in the middle of his white hospital bed, and picked up a muggle Rubik's Cube from the night stand. "So what is the Ministry's plan?" he asked, not looking up as he began to solve the muggle device. Remus fleetingly saw a small medical tube protruding from inside his sleeve, and assumed he had been fixed with a sort of portable IV.

Remus frowned. "I'm not sure. Either they'll go ahead with the appeal, or question you again—maybe with Veritaserum or Legilimency this time—and drop the charges. Peter confessed in front of at least a dozen Ministry employees, and Fudge has been interviewing him since. I'm sure the media's gotten word by now."

"Bet he fancies that," Sirius replied flatly. "Nothing better for your rising career than the public discovery of your biggest professional mistake."

Remus shrugged. "Not to mention word of a Ministry conspiracy being all over the papers the same morning."

Sirius looked at him questioningly.

"Rita Skeeter and I exchanged a few pleasantries in the Leaky Cauldron the night before," said Remus, shrugging. For a moment, he felt like he was back in his school days.

Sirius gave a half-smile. "Always the trouble-maker. What would your mother think?"

Remus grinned at this. Finally, a hint of Sirius' old self. "That I really did spend too much time around you and James."

Sirius shot him another smile, but this one seemed forced, somehow. Remus mentally kicked himself for mentioning James. He decided to change the subject, and instead filled Sirius in on a few events that had occurred over the past two years. "Harry lives with his aunt now. Lily's sister."

Sirius didn't seem surprised by this news. "I would have thought so. How is he there?"

"He's getting used to a strictly muggle life," he answered. In truth, he had only seen Harry a rare few times since he left. "I believe he has glasses, now. Says he likes his school."

Sirius nodded silently. He had a fair portion of the cube solved. "And you?"

"Giving the Ministry hell," he replied. He wasn't going to tell Sirius that he had been secretly hating himself for two years, knowing there was so much more he could have done to have kept Sirius out of Azkaban, and saving those wasted years of his life. "Fudge was trying to dance around it—hence my meeting with Rita Skeeter. And why it's been taking so long," he added darkly, an apologetic note in his voice.

"Yes, but how have you really been?" Sirius pressed, suddenly losing interest in his cube. Remus vaguely wondered where he got it.

Remus met his hollow gaze for a moment before saying, "Fine."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "They've told you I've lost it, haven't they?"

"No, of course not—" Remus began, taken aback.

"You don't need to worry, Remus, I'm not that far gone. You can be honest with me; I promise I won't attack you, or whatever they said I might do."

"It has nothing to do with that—"

Sirius sighed in frustration, suddenly exasperated. "Fine, never mind." He stood up, his back faced to him. Remus frowned.

"Sirius, what—?"

"Despite what everyone seems to have concluded, I haven't lost it!" he suddenly shouted, turning around. "Before you, no one has told me what's going on. Everyone's so careful about what they say and do. Honestly, you'd think I was a world-phobic child the way everyone behaves around me."

Remus stared at him, taken aback. "Look, Sirius, I'm sorry—"

"No, don't apologize," Sirius muttered, looking suddenly weary. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. He let himself sink back on the bed, staring at nothing in particular. He was silent for a long moment, then turned to Remus. "It's good to see you."

Remus smiled sadly at this. One would have thought Sirius was just trying to change the subject, but Remus could see the sincerity in his shuttered eyes, the first emotion they finally showed. Remus opened his mouth to reply, but his buried emotions crept up out of nowhere, unleashing their sudden attack.

He tried to regain a grip on himself, but it was no use. He felt a soft weight on the mattress next to him, and a moment later, wasted arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders.

For a moment, Remus was furious with himself. It shouldn't be like this; it was supposed to be the other way around. He wasn't the one who had lost everything, and suffered unspeakable horrors in Azkaban. He wasn't the one who had two years of his life erased. And yet, here he was, being comforted by the man who had.

But the surprise attack was too strong to repel. He returned the embrace, feeling a fresh wave of guilt hit him as he felt the wasted frame of his friend beneath his grasp. He vaguely registered words of comfort muttered softly by Sirius. It was then that Remus noticed he was apologizing over and over into Sirius' shoulder.

He felt incredibly ridiculous, but he couldn't help it.

_

* * *

By mid-afternoon, an argument loud enough to wake the dead suddenly erupted downstairs from the atrium._

"I want every Auror to have come into contact questioned," Fudge ordered, flusteredWhen he came across the Head Auror, he snapped, "What happened? Pettigrew was in the third interview room at six this morning. It stands to reason he would still be there eight hours later!"

The Auror hesitated. "Sir, we're just as baffled by his escape—"

"If you had done your jobs correctly, Pettigrew wouldn't have escaped at all! Did no one stand guard?"

"We had an Auror stationed outside the door at all times, sir," said the Auror as calmly as he could.

Fudge's face had turned red. "Well, then maybe you should have had someone _inside _that bloody room as well! Something obviously happened!"

When there was no reply, Fudge added in heated, scathing tones, "Merlin! It's a miracle!" He paused expectantly, then snapped, "Pettigrew didn't just vanish into thin air!"

The Auror paused. "I will question every Auror stationed between midnight and now," he said firmly, taking on a professional tone.

"You better!" Fudge shouted, tossing the records of Pettigrew's questioning roughly at the Auror. They scattered to the floor in a haphazard heap as the man turned on his heel and strode firmly towards the golden lift.

While he knew it was now impossible, Fudge added loudly, "I want Pettigrew found!"

_

* * *

Completely unaware of the events unfolding in London, Harry ambled into the kitchen for a glass of water. Dudley was sitting on the counter, having snuck a large handful of cookies from the glass jar. He gave Harry a nasty smirk, kicking his legs. Harry ignored him._

He already had a plan of retaliation formed in his head.

"Duddey-kins!" Aunt Petunia cooed from the living room. Dudley shot the kitchen door a wide-eyed look. "Dudders, come speak with Auntie Marge. She's on the telephone and wants to hear all about school."

Dudley rolled his eyes dramatically and slid off the counter, wiping crumbs off his clothes as he went.

Harry waited by the sink, an empty glass in hand, until the kitchen door swung shut. Reacting quickly, Harry set the glass down and pulled a handful of dog biscuits from his pockets. They looked remarkably like cookies, and would easily pass as such.

Harry slipped the dog biscuits into the glass cookie jar. Just as he was filling his glass again, Dudley reentered the kitchen with an annoyed look on his face. He purposely shoved into Harry as he climbed onto the counter once more. Harry took a sip as Dudley bit into a dog biscuit.

Dudley chewed for a moment, then froze. He looked at Harry with a mixed expression of revulsion and shock on his piggy face. Harry simply shrugged, and left the room.

When he was back in his cupboard, Harry vowed to keep the look on Dudley's face in his memory forever.

_

* * *

Remus strode into the tiny ward that evening, a mixture of emotions surging through him. He spotted Sirius lying on his side, head resting on a folded arm, apparently asleep. Remus hesitated, staring at him. How was he supposed to tell him?_

Remus sank onto the foot of Sirius' bed, staring at nothing in particular. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Sirius was indeed awake, staring ahead of him expressionlessly.

"Peter's escaped," said Remus dully. Judging by the lack of movement and emotion coming from Sirius, he already knew. Remus turned back around. For a long while there was a dead silence.

"No one was there, I take it?"

"Not inside the room, no," answered Remus.

Sirius sighed. "Idiots," he muttered. "Peter must have been frightened enough that he managed to transform on his own, and scurried out the door the moment it opened. No one would have seen him. But then, no one would have really expected him to achieve such a thing. No one ever does."

There was a long silence. Remus was on his feet now, but Sirius hadn't moved from his original position on the bed.

"That's not all," said Remus dully. Sirius half-turned his head to look at him. "They've only dropped half the charges. I have no idea what they're planning on doing with the others."

Sirius stared at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the wall ahead of him.

Remus studied Sirius for a moment. It seemed he was far calmer about the entire ordeal than Remus was, and Sirius was the one it truly concerned. If the charges were upheld, Sirius might be sent back to Azkaban to serve the remainder of a new sentence. He was entirely too calm about such insane events.

Remus felt like he was in Dr. Suess' worst nightmare.

He sighed exasperatedly. Remus was bursting with things to shout, but somehow managed to contain himself.

"I'm going home. I'll come back tomorrow." With that, he left the ward silently.

Walking through the empty corridors, Remus felt a new surge of fear course through him as the thought of Sirius returning to Azkaban reentered his mind. He couldn't bear it if that were to happen.

For the remainder of the evening, Remus sat on his threadbare couch. He had already finished off half a bottle of wine to calm his nerves, and was now completing a pot of tea. The fire in his fireplace had long since died, but Remus hardly noticed. Every hour letters had arrived, but they all lay in a scattered heap on the floor, ignored.

Finally, at a quarter to ten, a tall, wizened man stepped out of the dark grate. His gaze fell on the untouched letters and then steadily traveled on to Remus.

"I see you haven't heard, then. Sirius is to be released in two days," said Dumbledore, taking a seat on the armchair across from Remus. There was no answer. "The problem is, sorting through this matter will take a month at the very least. And the Ministry can't keep Sirius in an interrogation room the entire time."

Remus' gaze snapped up. "No."

Dumbledore half-shrugged. "They told me there is no other practical solution."

Remus leapt to his feet, almost knocking over his half-empty mug of tea. "They're not sending him back!" First Peter escaped, then half the charges still lingered. It would be entirely too much if the Ministry forced Sirius to wait out their decision in Azkaban.

"But what can they do?"

"Pull their heads out of their arses! What's wrong with keeping Sirius in St. Mungo's in the meantime?"

"The Ministry can't afford it," said Dumbledore. "There is no one to pay off the bills. They're too busy trying to silence the _Prophet._"

Remus threw his hands in the air. "I don't know! Surely there are other options!"

"Can you think of one?"

Remus turned to look at Dumbledore. There was a strange look in his eye.

"There are other options, yes," he said slowly. "We could place him in a muggle prison in the meantime. There's house-arrest, and I believe there's also—"

"I'll do it."

Dumbledore stopped and looked at him. "Pardon?"

"Get the Wizengamot to convince the Ministry to put Sirius under house-arrest."

Dumbledore leaned back slightly. "But he has no house to remain in. While his father died several years ago, I believe his mother may still be alive and bitter."

"I'm not talking about them," said Remus quickly. "Bring him here."

A slight twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's blue eyes. "Are you sure you're up to the responsibility?"

Remus snorted. "Compared to all the times I've let him down? He'll stay here. The house is far enough in the middle of nowhere, there's no reason the Ministry can say no."

Dumbledore hesitated. "They still might."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I've spent all my Hogwarts years with him, and I'm pretty sure Sirius has gotten used to it by now. Besides, there's the Wolfsbane potion. And even if I had a bloodthirsty desire to attack, as a dog, he would be perfectly fine." He shook his head. "It's not like the Ministry has expressed any compassion for his life," he added darkly.

Dumbledore stood up slowly. "I'm glad you offered," he said. "Between you and me, it was the ideal possibility. Only Madam Bones wasn't allowed to authorize it unless you were completely willing."

Remus stared at him. "Then why didn't you suggest it yourself in the first place?"

"If I had, then some in the Ministry might complain that I persuaded you," said Dumbledore. "I could bring up the option, but as long as you were the one to outright suggest the responsibility fall yo you, then there's nothing the Ministry can do about it, really."

In spite of the events of the day, Remus smiled. He was able to keep Sirius out of Azkaban, for the next few weeks at least. But those few weeks were everything.


	33. fever dream

A/N: I finished writing the last chapter today, to reach a grand total of thirty-five. I still can't believe it's done. As soon as I come up with a title for the sequel, I shall inform you all.

"There are places and moments in which one is so completely alone that one sees the world entire."  
-Jules Renard, Journal, December, 1900

_When a week _had passed, Remus noticed Sirius had changed more than he had originally presumed. Some things were clearly the result of Azkaban, but others were harder to place.

Before James and Lily had died, Sirius was lively, talkative, and often temperamental. Now, however, he was far more serious and quiet. It was as though he had aged fifty years in the six that had passed. Before he couldn't cook to save his life, and now he insisted on preparing all the morning and evening meals. Cleaning had become a second nature, and he mothered Remus more than usual after the full moon.

There were also the minor things: the American accent, a new love for coffee, and a habit of combing through the paper every morning. It seemed the only thing that hadn't changed about him was his peculiar taste for muggle clothing and, on rare occasions now, a slip of his dry humor.

While Sirius provided a constant front that would otherwise be believable, Remus often caught the deadened stares into space and heard the nightmares in the early hours of the morning. Many times Sirius uncharacteristically jumped at sudden noises.

The atmosphere between them had been awkward and uncomfortable. Remus often tried to talk to Sirius, but it was clear he wasn't willing to say a word. There was so much empty space and time between the two men, that it was almost as though they were strangers.

"I'm stopping into town after work," Remus said one morning. "Do you want anything?"

Sirius lowered his mug of tea. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I'm stopping by Diagon Alley for a few things as well." After the first few nights, Remus made a mental note to pick up a few bottles of Dreamless Sleep Potion at the Apothecary. He wasn't sure how he would persuade Sirius to take it, but he figured he would think of that when the time came.

"I don't suppose I'm allowed to touch a wand, am I?" Sirius asked wryly.

"I think the Ministry might wet themselves once they got word," Remus replied, shrugging. "I'll be back sometime this evening."

Halfway to the door, Remus was called back. He paused, half-turning around.

"When...when James and Lily died," Sirius began steadily, staring into his mug. "What did you think?"

"What?"

"When everyone thought it was me," he continued. "What I'm asking is what you were thinking. How you felt."

Remus stared at him, completely taken aback. "I don't know," he said slowly, frowning. "What—why do you ask?"

When Sirius didn't answer, Remus sighed. "Upset, I guess."

Sirius looked up at him. "Just upset?"

"Yes, why?" said Remus, brow furrowed. "Look, what does this have to do with anything?"

Sirius leaned back in his chair, sighing. "Nothing. Doesn't matter."

Remus stared at him. His temper was starting to rise, and he wasn't even sure why. "No, it's not nothing," he said. "What does it matter?"

"You have work," said Sirius dully, staring ahead of him. "You should go before you're late."

Remus opened his mouth to reply, and instead let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine," he snapped, disappearing through the front door and slamming it shut behind him.

However, as he walked along the frozen walkway that led to the main road, Remus' anger faded as quickly as it had come. He immediately felt guilty for snapping at Sirius; he should have kept in mind that Sirius wouldn't quite be himself for some time.

Sirius was oddly determined to get Remus to speak of the strangest things, but he refused to say a word about himself. He wouldn't even speak of his time in New York with Harry. Perhaps the memory was too painful.

But if Sirius wanted to be anything like his old self, Remus knew that the man would have to face the memories sometime.

_

* * *

When Remus disappeared through the front door, Sirius slumped in the chair, sighing. He stared at the ceiling darkly for several long minutes. He almost regretted bringing the subject up in the first place, but Remus' answer was eating away at him. __Just upset. _Not shocked, not in disbelief, but simply upset. Was it really so easy to believe him guilty of such a thing? Had everyone really been expecting it all this time?through the front door, Sirius slumped in the chair, sighing. He stared at the ceiling darkly for several long minutes. He almost regretted bringing the subject up in the first place, but Remus' answer was eating away at him. Not shocked, not in disbelief, but simply upset. Was it really so easy to believe him guilty of such a thing? Had everyone really been expecting it all this time? 

Sirius felt a surge of frustration course through him. Hadn't he proved himself different from his lineage? Surely the people who knew him best realized he could never do such a thing? Or did a part of them still unconsciously wait for him to screw up and show his "true colors"?

Sirius strode over to the sink and stared out the frozen window.

* * *

"_No."_

"_Sirius, don't _be ridiculous," said Remus exasperatedly that night.

"I don't need potions, Remus, I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Remus countered hotly. He left the kitchen counter and stood in the doorway that led into the dining room where Sirius sat. "I'm pretty sure the record for consecutive days without sleep is eleven."

Sirius got to his feet silently and left the room.

"Why are you being so difficult?" Remus said loudly from the dining room, following Sirius. "How do you expect to get better if you keep—"

"Get _better_?" Sirius repeated, stopping at the foot of the staircase that led to the attic bedroom. "What, am I touched in the head, now?"

"No, you're an idiot," snapped Remus. "Exactly how long do you think you can keep this up? Sirius, I can hear you every night. And I know you haven't even been sleeping for the past few. If you don't want to talk to me, fine, but you're not keeping this up."

Sirius didn't answer as he ascended the stairs.

"If you continue doing this, you can't stay here!" Remus shouted up the stairs. There was a reasonable chance it was true. The Ministry checked in every so often to make sure everything was going smoothly. If they arrived to see Sirius and himself arguing every other minute, and Sirius as a complete wreck, they were bound to end the house-arrest and place Sirius somewhere else.

Remus sighed in exasperation, collapsing on the foot of the stairs. Sirius knew what was at stake, so why was he being so difficult?

_

* * *

Sirius shut the door behind him before leaning against it and letting himself sink to the floor. It was several silent minutes later that he realized his hands were shaking. Remus' last comment kept repeating in his head like an echo. He shut his eyes and pressed his head against the wood._

He knew Remus was under a great deal of stress from the entire situation. Perhaps it would indeed be best if he didn't stay. Remus clearly had enough on his plate without the addition of a half-insane convict. Sirius vaguely wondered why the Ministry assigned Remus to the job when he obviously had enough to be getting along with. Remus of course would have agreed on the spot, ignoring all second thoughts, because that was how he was. Perhaps he hadn't imagined it would turn out this way.

Sirius refused to touch the potion because he wanted to be able to function without depending on potions and magical remedies. It meant a much harder transition back into the world, but if he could at least be normal in one aspect of his life, then it would be worth it.

As a result, Sirius got the impression that Remus thought he didn't care about readjusting to a world outside Azkaban. Perhaps because of this, Remus didn't believe he could help Sirius. And if he couldn't help him, maybe he didn't see a real reason to keep him here.

It was then Sirius realized he lost much more of his life than he originally thought.

He knew Remus wanted him to tell him everything, but Sirius didn't see the point of both of them having nightmares. How was he supposed to explain that?

Aside from all this, there was still the fact that Remus was only _upset _about the false news that Sirius had betrayed Lily and James to their deaths. How was it possible that it was believed so easily? Sirius could only imagine the way their conversation would turn out if he brought the subject up again. He wasn't sure if he felt guilty or not about being angry with Remus.

He didn't blame Remus for believing he had been the spy; he had thought it was the other way around himself. But surely it would have been harder to believe than that?

_

* * *

Dudley, though with no real idea that it had been Harry who had slipped the biscuits into the jar, decided Harry was to blame anyway. Knowing better than to break Harry's glasses again, Dudley snuck a chair out of the living room and dragged it upstairs. He stepped inside the bathroom, and carefully placed the back of the chair against the other side of the door. Closing it, he heard the chair slide into place._

A moment later, the house was suddenly filled with Dudley's petrified screams. Aunt Petunia dropped the box of pasta she was preparing; noodles covered the spotless tile like an army of bacteria. Harry quickly pressed himself against the hallway wall as Aunt Petunia rushed upstairs. When she pulled the chair away from the door, Dudley was sobbing.

"He—he—he locked—me in here!" he wailed, covering his face so that his mother wouldn't see the lack of tears.

After an intense bought of screaming, Aunt Petunia locked Harry in his cupboard the rest of the evening. As Harry lay on the mattress, staring at the dark ceiling, he formulated new plots of revenge.

Dudley wouldn't know what he had coming.

_

* * *

Days passed in mutual silence. The only conversation exchanged between the two men had quickly developed into arguments, their meanings deeper than the words exchanged. Both Remus and Sirius knew there was something eating away at the other that went unspoken, but neither of them would admit it, least of all to the other._

"I spoke with Dumbledore today," said Remus, returning home from work late in the afternoon. The temperature had begun to climb as the rain melted away the snow. "He said the Ministry doesn't intend to inform Harry of the past month's events until everything is sorted out."

"So he doesn't even know anything's changed?" Sirius asked from the armchair he was curled in. His voice was slightly hoarse with exhaustion. A worn muggle novel lay open in his lap.

Remus shook his head, hanging up his coat and scarf. He turned to look at Sirius, and saw that the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. It was hard to say if he appeared to be in a worse physical state now, or when he was in prison. Enough was enough.

"I'm putting on a pot of tea," Remus announced, entering the kitchen. "You want a cup?"

"Er...yeah, all right," Sirius called from the living rom.

Remus put the kettle on the stove, and as the water boiled, he extracted a small glass bottle from the wine cabinet. He removed two chipped mugs from the cupboard, and filled one with a few tablespoons of the potion. He knew it was a bad thing to be doing, spiking Sirius' drink with a relaxation potion, but the man's pride was getting the better of him. Remus had to end this before Sirius' health slipped into real danger.

Several minutes later, Remus returned to the living room with two steaming mugs. He handed one to Sirius, and then returned to the kitchen.

Remus waited in front of the raindrop-covered window above the sink, watching the changing weather outside as he waited for the potion's effects to take hold. He almost felt ashamed of himself for lying to Sirius, but he couldn't see any other way. Besides, if he brought Sirius back to St. Mungo's, they would only drug him into sleeping.

When several long minutes had passed, Remus returned to the living room, where he found Sirius still folded in the armchair, asleep. Remus paused, taken aback slightly by the sudden effects of the potion. It seemed that was all Sirius needed to let himself fall asleep. Remus breathed a sigh of relief, and returned to the kitchen to prepare an early supper.

Remus opened the pantry, and saw that it was nearly empty. He was going to have to return to the local grocer at some point, but he was sure he didn't have enough money. Just last week he had to pay off the muggle property taxes on his house, and that nearly drained his account.

Pulling out two potatoes and a handful of other vegetables, Remus began preparing a simple soup. Just as he put on a pot of water over the stove, he heard a sudden cry from the living room. He jumped, and hurried out of the kitchen. A loud crash signaled that the pot had fallen over and filled the kitchen floor with water.

Remus found Sirius still in the armchair, thrashing and clearly unable to wake up. Remus hurried over to him, shaking him roughly. "Sirius, wake up!" he said loudly. He shook him harder this time, and yelled the words. Sirius awoke with a start, and nearly fell over as he scrambled backwards in shock.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked, taking a step back.

Sirius looked around the room fleetingly, as though trying to register where he was. When his gaze returned to Remus, he paused, his breathing uneven. The fear in his stare was replaced by confusion, and then immediately closed off.

"What is this?" he said softly, straightening up.

Remus frowned, taken aback. "You fell asleep—"

Sirius' gaze fell on the spilt mug lying on the floor. His eyes snapped back up to Remus questioningly.

"I didn't spike your drink with a Sleeping Solution," said Remus defensively, standing up. While this was true, he had no intention of informing Sirius it was in fact a few tablespoons of the Draught of Peace.

"I—" Sirius broke off, as though suddenly lost in thought. He was remarkably paler than usual. "I should go shower... Is that all right?"

Remus frowned, the air that was readying himself for yet another fight completely dissipating. "Yes, of course."

Sirius nodded absentmindedly, standing up slowly. He looked as though he was lost.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Remus asked softly, voice laced with concern.

Sirius managed to force a half-smile. "Fine." He took a step forward, and noticed the spilt tea. "I should clean that up," he muttered distractedly.

"No, I'll do it," said Remus quickly. "It'll be faster. Go take a shower. Dinner will be ready in a bit."

When the piping was creaking with the surging water several minutes later, Remus finally left the living room and reentered the wet kitchen. He sighed, cleaning up the huge puddle and refilling the pot magically. As the water finally came to a boil, Remus began chopping the vegetables. His gaze fell on his untouched mug of tea nearby, and he paused.

He had given Sirius the wrong mug.

_

* * *

Half an hour later, Remus ascended the creaky staircase that led to the attic bedroom. He carried a bowl of soup in one hand, and used the other to quietly open the door._

Sirius was lying on his stomach on the bed, face turned away from the door. He was still in his day clothes despite having taken a shower. He didn't seem to notice Remus had entered.

Remus set the bowl down on the side cabinet, and sat on the foot of the bed. "You all right?" he asked again.

Sirius grunted an affirmative into his pillow.

"Are you hungry? I made some soup."

"I think I might be sick," Sirius muttered.

Remus quirked an eyebrow. "You know, most people would take offense if you said that about their cooking."

Sirius half-smiled. "That's not what I meant, you smarmy old bastard."

"Well, if you don't eat something, you will be sick," said Remus, suddenly serious.

Sirius turned to his side, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Maybe later," he muttered into his pillow.

Remus sighed. He was bursting with things to say, but knew through experience that it would be fruitless to mother Sirius.

"The bowl's charmed, so it'll keep the soup hot for a few more hours," said Remus dully. "Do you want anything?"

"No..." Sirius muttered softly, eyes shut. "I just want to be left alone for a while."

Remus sighed inwardly. "All right," he said with difficulty, standing up. "If you need anything, I'll be right downstairs."

As he descended the staircase, Remus paused halfway. He had no idea what to do. Trying to talk some common sense into Sirius obviously wouldn't work; he wasn't even himself. So what was Remus supposed to do? Wait it out?

Remus returned to the kitchen with a mind to get some dinner, but found he wasn't hungry. Instead he washed the dishes in an attempt to occupy his mind. Once that was taken care of, Remus combed through the paper on the dining table, organized his already-clean living room, and finally retreated to his bedroom, where he lay staring at the ceiling for hours.

_

* * *

Remus awoke with a start, peering blearily around his bedroom. It was then that he remembered where he was, and laid back on his pillows. He lay there for a moment, trying to figure out what seemed out of place at this hour. As Remus got to his feet, he realized it, whatever it was, was coming from the bathroom down the hall._

Remus flicked on the lamps as he went, and froze in the doorway. Sirius was huddled on the floor, leaning over the toilet seat and shaking violently. Regaining a grip on himself after his initial shock, Remus hurried forward and dropped to his knees next to Sirius.

"Are you okay? Oh, shit—"

"I'm fine," Sirius managed to choke out, running a white hand through his damp hair.

"Bloody hell," Remus cursed to himself. "I'm sending for a Healer—this has gone far enough—"

"No," Sirius gasped, shaking his head firmly.

"Don't you even start with this," said Remus in agonized tones. "I'm not watching you do this—"

"I told you..." Sirius muttered in a pained whisper. "I just feel ill—that's all—"

Remus got to his feet. "I don't give a damn if it's food poisoning—I'm sending for the Healer—"

"Don't—" Sirius warned.

"Would you rather go to the hospital?" Remus shouted. He wasn't angry; rather, frightened for his friend. "Fine. Get up; you're going right now." Without hesitation, Remus tried to pull Sirius to his feet, but Sirius attempted to fight him off. Remus stumbled back and grabbed onto the counter for support; Sirius fell back against the wall, breathing uneven.

He was not getting out of it this time.

Remus pulled out his wand, hoping dearly he wouldn't have to use it. "Don't you—don't you dare make me use this."

Sirius closed his eyes. It seemed to be costing him an enormous amount of energy to stay conscious. "Go to hell," he whispered.

The comment hit Remus like a train, but he wouldn't be deterred. "Not until you go to the damn hospital—"

Sirius tried to focus his gaze on Remus, but gave up and looked away, eyes closed. "Hospital?" he whispered, turning back to Remus weakly.

"Yes, the hospital," said Remus in a loud, clear voice. He frowned. Sirius didn't seem to fully register what was going on. Remus was more frightened than ever.

Sirius swallowed. "No hospital..." he said weakly. He added another statement, but his voice was too quiet to catch the words.

"Pardon?"

Sirius opened his eyes for the briefest of moments to glance at Remus. "I...potion..."

Remus hesitated, having not expected Sirius to be asking for the Dreamless Sleep Potion. "Is that what you want?"

Sirius looked as though he was going to answer, but didn't have the strength for it, for he immediately lost consciousness.

Remus hurried into the kitchen and rummaged through the potions cabinet unceremoniously until he found the glass bottle of the purple solution. He hurried back into the bathroom, kneeling next to Sirius and ripping the cork out of the bottle. He shook Sirius roughly until he woke, groaning softly.

"Drink this," Remus directed, pouring the potion into Sirius' mouth. He choked on it, causing Remus to cover Sirius' mouth and nose briefly to get him to swallow.

"Sorry," Remus muttered, letting go. Sirius didn't appear to have heard him. His head drooped sideways slightly, and his breathing finally began to relax.

Remus breathed an exhausted sigh of relief, collapsing to the floor and leaning against the bathtub. He glanced at Sirius. Despite his gaunt appearance, Remus had never seen him so calm.

Remus ran his hands through his hair in exhaustion. He looked back at Sirius, and carefully wrapped him in his arms before getting to his feet. The adrenaline still present in his veins allowed Remus to carry Sirius to his own bedroom.

"Sorry for...stupid..." Sirius said so quietly into Remus' shoulder, that it was hardly discernable.

Remus almost dropped him.

Regaining a grip on himself, he entered his bedroom where he carefully set Sirius on the mattress. "Just go to sleep," he told him softly, straightening up. Sirius pulled his knees toward his chest, curling up in the center of the bed, still fully dressed.

Remus left the bedroom door open as he entered the dim living room. He collapsed on the couch, mentally drained of energy.

He didn't think he could do this anymore. It was killing him to watch on helplessly as his friend suffered before his very eyes.


	34. soft surrender

A/N: One more chapter to go after this. As of this point, the sequel has been titled "the Great Perhpas Not" due to a lack of better ideas.

"A true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down."  
-Arnold H. Glasow

_Remus awoke groggily _to the sound of a high-pitched whistle that was immediately cut short. He rolled over, and nearly fell off the bed—

That wasn't right.

Remus opened his eyes, and realized he was in his living room, lying on the couch. He rubbed his eyes, and checked his watch. It was nearly six in the morning. Slowly Remus rolled over and got to his feet, staggering sleepily into the kitchen.

Sirius, still in the previous day's wrinkled clothes, was soaking a tea bag in a mug of hot water. He jumped and looked up when he heard Remus enter.

"You can have your bed back if you'd like," Sirius said in an exhausted voice.

"You should be sleeping," Remus said, extracting his own mug from the cabinet.

"Can't," Sirius mumbled. Remus gazed at him questioningly. "The, uh..." He waved his hand distractedly, trying to find the correct words. "Well, they came back a little while ago."

Remus nodded understandingly. "I have plenty more—"

Sirius sighed, staring into his mug that was sitting on the counter. "I'm a pathetic wreck, aren't I? Some...stupid child."

Remus frowned. "No, of course not," he said, taken aback slightly.

Sirius half-shrugged, half-shook his head. "I don't even know what to make of...this," he continued, waving a hand. "Perhaps I should be well chuffed that I can't remember much from last night... Stupid idiot..."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Remus. "And don't you blame yourself for any of it, either. It's not your fault."

Sirius sighed, but didn't reply.

Remus hesitated, then added quietly, "This has to stop. I know you hate the idea, but—"

"I don't want to have to rely on potions and charms to function," Sirius muttered, staring out the dark window.

"It doesn't make you weak to take the potions," said Remus exasperatedly.

"It's not about being weak," Sirius snapped tiredly.

"You're letting your damn pride get in the way," Remus said firmly.

"Merlin," Sirius muttered, shaking his head slightly.

"We can't keep doing this," Remus continued in a stronger voice. "I'm tired of all this arguing, but the longer you keep it to yourself, the worse it's going to get—"

"What about you?" Sirius countered. "If I remember right, you haven't said a word yourself—"

"That's not important—"

Sirius snorted in disbelief. "Like hell it's not."

"I'm not the one who spent four years of my life on the run, and another two in Azkaban!" Remus shouted, losing his now-fragile temper.

Sirius turned away, throwing his hands in the air. "What is it you want to know, exactly? Enlighten me."

"Why you haven't said a word in the first place would be a good start."

Sirius turned his head to look at him, an eyebrow raised. "One of us should be able to sleep at night—"

Remus laughed humorlessly. "You're so selfish," he said, shaking his head. "I don't need to be mothered, Sirius—"

"And I do?"

Remus shook his head in exasperation. "I want to know why you've completely shut yourself off! You haven't even asked about Harry since the night you were released. You say Azkaban has done little to change you, and if that's true, then what has?"

"I'm insane, remember?" Sirius countered. "Why are you taking the word of a madman?"

"Then which is it?"

Sirius shook his head. "There's no point to this," he said in exasperation, disappearing from the kitchen and walking down the dark hallway.

"You aren't ignoring this!" Remus shouted, following him.

"Enough, already!" Sirius snapped exasperatedly, turning around. "Merlin..." He trailed off, then added heatedly. "Why can't you just drop it? Isn't it bad enough as it is?"

"I'm not dropping this until we've bloody cleared up the matter," Remus replied angrily.

Sirius shook his head as he turned around, Remus right behind him. Remus tried to grab onto Sirius' arm, but he managed to throw him off and disappeared in the laundry room nearby, slamming the door shut and locking it.

Remus glared at the wood with half a mind to blast it open.

"Why are you doing this?" Remus shouted through the door, only centimeters away. There was no response. "Answer me—!"

"Because it's my fault!" Sirius shouted from the other side. "Lily and James are only dead because of me! Peter got away with it until just now because I was too foolhardy to tell anyone! Harry lives with Lily's sister, and I've pretty much screwed your life up, too—"

"Sirius—"

"And you blame yourself for not believing me from the start," Sirius continued in even louder tones. "But we both know that wouldn't be possible if I hadn't screwed up from the start. Don't you see? It's all because of me! I know it. And—" He broke off for a moment. "—and I thought that maybe Azkaban was certainly enough of a punishment, but it never ends..."

Remus stared at the door silently. A soft thud and sliding told him Sirius was sinking to the floor against the door.

"I know I deserve it, but—" He hesitated. "I'm a selfish arse, and I just want a normal life."

Remus shook his head. "Sirius, none of this is your fault. There was no way any of us could have known—"

"That doesn't make a difference," snapped Sirius. "Because of me, they're still dead. A wrong decision can't be made a right decision because you couldn't have known what was coming. It's just plain wrong. If it were about what type of tea your mother prefers, it wouldn't matter, but death is a pretty big deal."

"Don't be stupid," said Remus firmly. "I—"

"Come on, Remus, you know you would be saying the same thing if it were you," said Sirius wearily. "You don't deserve to have me screw up your life again—"

"Sirius, it's not your fault," Remus repeated. "It's just an effect from Azkaban—"

"Azkaban," Sirius interrupted loudly. "has only made everything clearer to me. When you're reliving the exact same thing every day, you figure out why it happened at some point."

"All right, fine," snapped Remus, throwing his hands in the air and pacing the dim hallway distractedly. "It is all your fault! You screwed up big time. I won't lie to you. And most of this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't made the stupid choice of not telling anyone you switched with Peter." He paused, breathing heavily. "But I forgive you. Harry forgives you. Isn't that good enough?"

There was no reply.

"Is this what's been bothering you?" Remus asked.

"Remus, I told you what you wanted to know," said Sirius weakly.

"Sirius—"

"It was my responsibility!" Sirius shouted. "It was my responsibility to protect James and Lily, and I've completely screwed that up. I've pretty much annihilated my title as godfather. It was _me. _Stop blaming yourself when I screw up! Your only responsibility in the matter was to make of it what seemed right to you." He broke off.

Remus sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the doorframe. He wanted to reply, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Open the door."

There was no reply, nor the sound that Sirius had acquiesced.

* * *

"_There is absolutely _no point in upholding the remainder of the charges unless you want to be branded a heartless arse," said Jude Dufresne to the rest of the Wizengamot. "It's perfectly clear that Black only committed these..._crimes _because he had no other choice."

"If he was innocent, then why not turn himself in in the first place, instead of making our lives hell for four years?" another interjected.

Dufresne rolled his eyes. "Where have you been these past two years, Sparks? Black would have been administered the Dementor's Kiss. It was all a matter of survival for an innocent man caring for Potter. I've reviewed Potter's statement in detail, and he's made it perfectly clear Black only broke wizarding law when he had to, and only for Potter's safety and health."

"That's all fine, Jude," said the man named Sparks. "But what about Black taking Potter in the first place? I really don't see how that was necessary—"

"Well," Jude interrupted with mock contemplation. "When canisters of poisonous gas are tossed into the room both were in, I must say I do believe the ideal solution would be to get Potter out as fast as possible. It was clear Black was trying to leave Potter with Lupin, but the Ministry had made it impossible. Black had no other choice."

"That doesn't explain why Black took Potter in the first place."

"Pardon?"

"The Auror reports state Black returned to his flat in northern London, with Potter. As soon as the Ministry arrived, Black disappeared. With Potter. Why not leave the boy there?"

A witch rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Sparks, how clearly do you reckon you could think if the entire Magical Government was after your blood, and only one step behind?"

"If he had Potter's best interests in heart at the time, he certainly would have remembered the Ministry was after him, not Potter—" another witch interjected.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," snapped a wizened and balding wizard. "The Ministry had no idea Potter was with Black at the time. The Aurors were given permission to kill if necessary—who's to say what would have happened if Potter was left behind in a building the Ministry assumed Black was still in—"

Arguments broke out among the court. Jude sighed in exasperation. Dumbledore, who was sitting right next to him, appeared quite calm.

"If we're done debating every possible 'if' that situation could stir up, may we return to the conflict at hand?" Jude snapped. The court fell silent, though many members wore dark expressions. "Thank you," he said exasperatedly. "Now, for the charges of misuse of magic, petty thievery, and trespassing, what do you propose?"

"It's perfectly clear Black was only driven to it as a matter of survival, due to the Ministry's hunt," said the first witch clearly.

"That doesn't excuse his behavior," said the second sternly. "Just because—"

"Then what do you propose, Johanna?" Dumbledore asked calmly. "Lock Black back up in Azkaban?" Johanna fell silent.

"Well, if there aren't any mindless objections," said Jude tartly. "I move to eliminate the stated charges."

While no one dared object, many wore looks of contempt.

"Grand," said Jude, rubbing his wrinkled hands together. "Now we have the matter of illegal migration to deal with. As Black was only trying to bring Potter back to England, I don't see the point in upholding this charge. Any questions?"

Again, no response.

"Now back to Potter," said Jude wearily, as though expecting the argument to flare up all over again. "For those of you who sternly adhere to the idea that Black could have—or should have—known better, do you really believe this 'criminal offense' warrants a sentence in Azkaban?"

There was a painful silence in the courtroom; many people were gazing at each other, as though trying to obtain advice or support.

"You may register your common sense or stupidity with Cornelius Fudge in the next twenty-four hours," said Dufresne, standing up. He cast a dark look around the long table. "I hope you may all sleep well after your decisions."

_

* * *

Remus opened the kitchen window to let a tawny owl flutter in, where it dropped an official-looking envelope on the counter. Remus picked it up, and Sirius gave it a wary look._

"It's a notice for a Hearing," said Remus, breaking the seal and opening it. "Says the Wizengamot has reached its final decision, and wants you present."

Sirius stared at the back of the parchment, then moved his gaze up to Remus. "When?" he asked as simply as he could.

Remus looked back to the letter. "Next week. Tuesday, February third, at ten in the morning." He skimmed it for a moment, then continued, "Courtroom Ten. Private affair."

Sirius sighed slightly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

"But Harry's being informed of it," Remus added. Sirius looked at him. "Says the Ministry is reporting to the Dursely residence to inform Harry of everything that's happened." He stopped, and looked up at Sirius. "I suppose that's a good thing, then. He'll know you were cleared."

"Almost," Sirius replied dryly.

_

* * *

Harry was in shock. Sirius had been out of Azkaban for almost a month, and no one had told him. Not only that, but Peter Pettigrew had been captured and interrogated as well. However, after admitting to everything, the man escaped. Harry's mind was numb with all the shocking information to digest._

Sirius had been cleared of most of the charges, but a few remained, including Harry's supposed "kidnaping."

As Harry sat on the couch in the living room, where Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were sitting very stiffly nearby, he stared at his feet. The Ministry official was talking, but Harry didn't really catch the words.

Why had no one told him? Did they think he was too young, and thus wouldn't understand? He would be eight in a few months; he wasn't a baby. He was only five when the Ministry had tried to convince him his godfather was a murderer; why was this seen as too much for him?

And why hadn't Sirius and Remus told him? Remus promised Harry when he left to live with the Dursleys that he would keep Harry posted on everything happening with Sirius' case. Well, he had been out of Azkaban for a month, and was on his way to having his name cleared. Harry had only just found out, and not by him.

He wasn't a baby.

Why was everyone treating him like one?

"The final formalities are being held in a week's time," the official continued. "The Hearing is a private affair, but if you want, we can arrange someone to send word of the results."

Harry looked up. Unable to work his vocal chords, he simply nodded.

"If his name's cleared," he managed. "Will I be able to live with him?"

The man looked up at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia with a hesitant and awkward expression. "I'm afraid I can't answer that," he said slowly. "Also, it's much too soon. Just wait until everything is taken care of. We'll get to it then, all right?"

Harry half-shrugged, half-nodded.

* * *

"_You realize that _if Black is cleared of all charges, we can't properly compensate him for his wrongful imprisonment?" Jude said darkly to Dumbledore that evening as both sipped their drinks in the Three Broomsticks. "The laws were waived about imprisoning Death Eaters six years ago, and that will be dragged up if we tried to raise an inquiry. The most we can give Crouch is a slap on the wrist and a new profession. We can't demote him—not even Fudge can do that—but we could shun him sideways. Get him out of Law Enforcement."

"I don't think a proper compensation exits for time spent in Azkaban, no matter how long," said Dumbledore. "If he is cleared, he won't have the normal life the Ministry will say they gave him. For one, he'll be forever scarred. There's no changing his past, both in Azkaban and the tragedy beforehand. Not only that, but the public won't be so readily accepting. Many will still see him as the mass-murderer he was branded as. He'll have a difficult struggle ahead of him."

"But what if all our efforts do nothing, and he winds back up in Azkaban all over again?"

Dumbledore studied his glass for a moment. "We'll have to break him out."

Jude smiled wryly. While Dumbledore's tone implied a joke, Dufresne knew the man was serious.


	35. how this will end

A/N: Oh my, the last chapter. I seriously can't believe I've actually finished this; it's the first novel-length anything that I've ever completed. The sequel "The Great Perhaps Not" will be in bookstores and theaters near you in about a week's time. Figure the first weekend of February. This chapter is dedicated to all you amazing people who have taken the time to read and review my spouts of insanity, and for bearing with me in the million years it took to write this. Enjoy.

"It is not length of life, but depth of life.  
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chapter thirty-five:

_The bedroom door _banged open loudly. Remus awoke with a start, and just as he opened his eyes, he shut them again as the cruel light beared down upon him.

"How can you still be asleep?" Sirius said in astonishment, only half-dressed.

Remus forced his eyes back open, and checked the clock sitting on the bedside table, squinting. It was six in the morning.

Remus rolled over, staring blearily at Sirius. "How was last night?"

Sirius glanced at him while digging through Remus' wardrobe. His hair was still soaking wet from his shower. "Fine."

Remus raised an eyebrow sleepily. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?" he said, getting up.

"No."

Remus rubbed his eyes, amazed he himself had slept at all.

"Honestly mate, don't you own any ties?"

Remus stared at him. "I put one upstairs with the suit."

Sirius cursed to himself and disappeared from the room. Remus dug around in his wardrobe himself, and extracted freshly-pressed trousers and his best jumper. After a brief shower, the prospect of the day's events finally began to sink in, and Remus was more alert than he had been in a long time.

He found Sirius pacing the kitchen distractedly, now fully dressed. The crisp black suit had once been his father's; Remus almost forgot he even had it until he raided the remaining boxes and trunks in the attic. After an airing, a good washing, and a hot iron, the suit was as good as new. With only a few minor altercations, it fit Sirius quite well. Sirius' hair had been slicked back elegantly, and if it weren't for the muggle Converse sneakers and a lingering gaunt appearance, he wouldn't have looked out of place at a high-class dinner party.

"Enough of your pacing," commanded Remus. "You're making _me _nervous." In truth, Remus was almost just as nervous as Sirius. He folded his arms, then added, "How are you doing?"

Sirius chuckled humorlessly. "You're not looking for an honest answer, are you?"

"Just relax," said Remus firmly. "You'll be fine. The Ministry can't hold anything against you. I'm sure this is just a formal...apology or something." In truth, Remus wasn't sure what was to happen.

Sirius cracked the knuckles in his fingers without realizing it and continued his distracted pacing.

"But what if they do? It wouldn't be the first time. I...oh, bollocks."

"Have some breakfast," Remus mothered. "It'll help you calm down."

Sirius eyed him skeptically. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said slowly.

Remus sighed, then began rummaging through his cabinets. "Perhaps some tea, then... I doubt coffee would do you any good... I have a bit of a Calming Solution left, if you wouldn't object." He glanced at Sirius over his shoulder, and saw the man looked as though he was deeply considering it.

Shutting the cabinets, Remus turned to face Sirius squarely. "Nothing is going to happen to you. Do you honestly believe any of us are going to let the Ministry chuck you back into Azkaban?"

Sirius paused in his pacing. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead gave an anguished groan and pressed his palms firmly against his temples. "I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered.

"Just try to relax," ordered Remus, leading Sirius to the dining room and sitting him down in the nearest chair. Sirius allowed himself to be steered without protest. "Everything will be all right."

The next two hours were spent with both men trying to occupy their minds in vain. Finally, at nine in the morning, they stepped into the fireplace and disappeared into the atrium in the Ministry of Magic.

Remus stepped out first, brushing soot off his clothes, and heard Sirius arrive shortly afterwards. The hall was crowded with morning employees heading in every which direction. At first they paid no notice to Remus and Sirius—they didn't seem to even see them—but it hardly took more than a few minutes until the witches and wizards began to recognize the face that had been plastered all over the papers for six years.

Remus glanced at Sirius, who looked remarkably paler than usual. Sirius himself was gazing a little apprehensively at the staring employees.

"Here," said Remus, pulling out his wand to remove the soot from Sirius' clothes properly. When that had been taken care of, Remus began to lead the way to the security desk. "Try to stay close," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. While he doubted anyone within the Ministry would try and attack Sirius when he was clearly innocent, he questioned whether he wanted to risk it.

The security wizard noted their names and registered Remus' wand. He ordered Sirius to remain behind while he called for an Auror escort.

"It'll all be over in an hour," said Remus comfortingly, as he was led away by his own escort to the courtroom. "You'll be fine."

Remus smiled comfortingly at him, while Sirius attempted a half-smile in return.

In one hour, they would know.

_

* * *

Sirius waited in the same old interrogation room, pacing the stone floor distractedly. He was surprised he hadn't worn tracks into the floor yet._

While he was grateful for all of Remus' words of comfort, it did very little to encourage him. Both men were perfectly aware this Hearing was equally likely to go in either direction. And if it headed for the worst, Sirius might be sent back to Azkaban.

He would rather die than step foot on that island ever again.

However, Sirius was almost as nervous about being cleared as he was about it not happening. He hadn't expected any of this to happen; and now that it was, he didn't think he would ever be able to get used to it. So much had changed in the past six years, and Azkaban had permanently scarred him. Sirius vaguely wondered if he would ever be able to readjust. The world outside of the prison was so different, and yet vaguely familiar; it felt as though it was some dream that would very soon end and send him right back to the reality of Azkaban.

If he was cleared, Sirius had no idea what he would do. All he possessed were the clothes he had been arrested in. He had no house, no job, and no idea what to even aim for. A normal life was simply out of the question.

There was very little Sirius could make of his life at this point; Azkaban had taken away too much of it, and damaged the rest.

Even his friendship with Remus was under severe strain. They fought quite heatedly like a bitter couple, and usually over the most mundane things. Both men wanted to repair their friendship, but it seemed almost too fragmented to have any hope. Harry lived with his aunt and uncle now, and Sirius doubted he would even be considered if he tried to gain proper custody of him. Not only did his name hold him back, but he would need a place of residence and a stable job. Sirius doubted whether he would receive either, in both the muggle and magical worlds, due to his background. It didn't matter that he was innocent; the public had believed otherwise for far too long to change their minds any time soon.

So what would there be to come back to? So much of his life had to be pieced back together, that Sirius wondered if it could be done.

There was a knock on the door, and a rather young, dark-skinned Auror with a bald head poked his head in. "It's time."

_

* * *

Harry crouched in the back garden, examining the early February plant life and the bugs that inhabited it. He knew Sirius' Hearing was sometime this week, though he had no idea when. He hoped that when his name was cleared, Sirius would come by and take Harry home with him._

He couldn't wait to leave the Dursleys.

Harry laid on his back in the slightly damp grass and stared at the gray sky overhead. He wondered if Sirius would get a house of his own, or if they would go back and live with Remus. Sirius could have the attic bed; Harry didn't mind sleeping on the couch. Harry would go to the local secondary school where people didn't hate him. He would make real friends, and wouldn't have to wear Dudley's old clothes.

He would go live with his parents' best friends, and have a real family.

_Sirius entered the _courtroom, escorted by two Aurors. As he entered, he saw all the benches were full of a mixture of people, including a few reporters. All had a variety of expressions, and watched him intently as Sirius sat down in the chair in the center of the room.

The chains didn't move.

"Sirius Black," came Fudge's voice loudly from somewhere in the middle. "You have been brought to the Council of Magical Law so that we may correct the charges against you." He paused, noticing that the reporters were recording every syllable. "Due to recent evidence, the charges of Death Eater activity, accomplice to murder, and murder have all been withdrawn with our sincerest apologies.

"Due to your confession at your, er, hearing two years ago, we have spent the past month deliberating our final decision. Mr. Dufresne, if you will."

Sirius looked around. A tall, wizened wizard in deep purple robes on the adjacent side of the room stood up. He looked vaguely familiar. Sirius could feel his heart beating furiously against his chest, and was sure he would be sick if he didn't faint first. "For the charges of petty theft, trespassing, illegal immigration, and the kidnap of Harry James Potter, the Wizengamot has pardoned you unconditionally."

Sirius froze; surely he had misheard.

"As compensation for your time in..."

He couldn't believe it. It was over. He was free.

"...awarded you the sum of approximately..."

Sirius looked around the court, and his shocked gaze fell on Remus, who was sitting near the very back with sparkling eyes and a wide grin. Sirius could do nothing but stare blankly at him; he couldn't believe any of this was actually happening.

Dufresne sat down, and the strange sound of applause filled the courtroom. Sirius didn't even notice it until he saw the hand motions from nearly everyone present. The alien sound slowly drifted through his ears, sounding as though it was coming from a muted television.

Fudge stood up again.

"On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, and the people of the wizarding community of England, I present my most sincere, formal apologies."

It was all a dream, and Sirius was floating through the courtroom as swarms of witches and wizards got to their feet, still applauding mutely. Was that part of the formalities, or were they actually congratulating him? Was he really free? Suddenly Remus appeared by his side.

"You're free!" he said happily, wiping his eyes hastily. "It's all over; you're cleared!"

Sirius gazed at him distractedly for a moment, then managed a smile as the reality of it all finally sunk in.

He was free.

* * *

"_I have Harry's _telephone number in Surrey," Remus stated as they entered the lively muggle streets. His breath came in bright silver clouds in the freezing air. "I'm sure he would love to hear from you."

He handed Sirius a small scrap of parchment with a row of numbers hastily scribbled down. Sirius stared at it silently; he hadn't spoken with Harry since before he was imprisoned.

"His aunt and uncle may or may not be expecting a call," he continued as they left a side street and entered a larger and more populated boulevard. "There's a pay telephone over there. Here's some change."

Remus waited near the entrance to a high-end coat shop, hands in his trouser pockets against the cool wind. He watched as Sirius entered the red telephone booth on the other side and picked up the receiver.

On the inside, he was almost as stunned by the outcome as Sirius. While it would seem perfectly logical to an outsider that the Ministry wouldn't dare send Sirius back to Azkaban, Remus feared the possibility nonetheless.

What would they do now? Remus knew he would be helping Sirius find a permanent residence of his own, and perhaps aid in the search of a job. What about afterwards? Would Sirius be able to obtain a normal life after everything that had happened?

As Sirius dialed the number, Remus stared around the shopping and commuting muggles. His attention wasn't called away until he heard a sudden, low roar approaching with the speed of light. Remus turned around just in time to see an expensive-looking automobile cut straight through a roundabout, and crash headlong into an obstacle on the edge of the sidewalk before sliding out of sight behind the shocked and frozen traffic.

Remus felt his heart stop. Sirius was lying motionless on the side of the road.

* * *

Evil, evil me. Now you have to read the sequel. 


End file.
